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Saunterings  in  Summerland 


BY 


J.  TORREY  CONNOR 


ILLUSTRATED  BY   HERNANDO  G.  VILLA 


1902 

ERNEST  K.  FOSTER 
Los  Angeles 


This  book  contains  a  number  of  selections  from  articles 
written  hj>  the  author  for  The  Los  Angeles  Times,  The  Los 
Angeles  Herald,  The  Land  of  Sunshine,  Overland,  Munsey's 
Magazine,  The  Chautauquan  and  Demoresfs  Magazine. 


TO 
THE  TRIBE  OF  THE  WANDERING  FOOT 

THIS  IS  THE  WAY  THAT  LEADS  DOWN  INTO  THE  BLOSSOMING  VALES  OF  SUMMERLAND 

A  FELLOW  WANDERER,  PASSING  OUT,  GREETS  YOU  AT 

THE  CROSS-ROADS,  AND  WISHES  YOU 

A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY 


893404 


ICns  Ang^bs,  f  ^steriag  attJn  Enia^. 


Tliv^ill^ 


SHE  began  life  as  the  "Pueblo  de  Nuestra  Senora  la 
Reina  de  Los  Angeles,"  and  a  shabby  little  queen  she 
must  have  been,  too,  for  all  her  high-sounding  name.     A 
mere  handful  of  adobe  houses  set  in  straggling  rows,  a 
sleepy  pueblo  with  cow  paths  for  streets,  such  was  the  Los 
"N.^-  Angeles  of  yesterday,  drowsing  on  the  bank  of  the  meander- 

ing stream  that  scarce  wet  the  sun-bleached  stones  in  its 
path. 

Today  a  bustling,  wide-awake  metropolis  has  pushed 
north,  east,  south  and  west — over  the  hills  where  the  va- 
quero  tended  his  herds ;  over  the  gravel  flats  where  stood 
the  shack  of  the  Digger;  straight  across  the  broad  acres 
of  the  rancho,  obliterating  the  last  trace  of  the  land  baron's 
hacienda. 

With  all  her  metropolitan  airs,  Los  Angeles  is  not  en- 
tirely given  over  to  modern  ways ;  and  not  the  least  among 
her  charms  are  the  things  that  remind  one  of  "the  days  that 
were."  Palatial  residences  and  substantial  business  blocks 
have  all  but  crowded  the  adobe,  with  its  tile  roof  and 
shaded  patio,  its  tiny,  deep-set  windows  and  earthen  floor, 
out  of  sight.  Yet  now  and  then  one  still  comes  upon  a 
bit  of  sunny  Spain  in  the  midst  of  prosaic  brick  and  mor- 
tar— a  garden,  where  orange  trees  drop  perfumed  petals 
upon  the  ground;  and  back  of  this,  the  time-stained  adobe, 
screened  from  the  gaze  of  the  curious  by  a  growth  of 
tangled  vines,  long  unpruned.  Always  there  are  children 
with  velvet-black  eyes,  clinging  to  the  skirts  of  the  mother ; 
yet  always  there  is  leisure  for  the  siesta,  the  gossip  with  a 
passing  friend,  the  pleasant  hour  in  the  garden. 

Should  the  tourist  wish  to  see  where  La  Reina  began 
life,  let  him  seek  the  quarter  known  as  "Sonoratown."  The 
clanging  of  the  street  car  gong  has  silenced  the  tinkle  of 
the  mandolin  that  timed  the  measures  of  the  dance;  the 
caballero's  love  plaint  is  no  longer  sung  beneath  the  grated 


window;  and  the  "corner  grocery"  has  supplanted  the 
tienda,  whose  proprietor,  in  no  wise  concerned  as  to  the  ex- 
tent of  his  sales,  would  put  up  the  shutters  at  noon,  every 
day,  and  betake  himself  to  his  casa  for  a  three-hour  siesta. 
Nevertheless,  this  is  the  Los  Angeles  of  yesterday. 

Here  is  the  Plaza,  and,  opposite  it,  the  church,  dedicated 
in  1822.  One  may  go  in  at  almost  any  hour  of  the  day 
and  see  dark-robed  figures  kneeling  before  the  altar,  or 
sitting  with  bowed  heads  on  the  long  benches,  placed  be- 
fore the  stations  of  the  cross.  Over  there  is  the  confes- 
sional, where  the  plea  of  the  penitent  is  heard ;  and  here  by 
the  door  the  stone  font  of  holy  water,  wherein  Mexican 
worshiper  and  the  sightseer  alike  dip  their  fingers,  if  they 
be  of  one  faith. 

Among  the  households  of  Sonoratown  may  still  be  found 
those  who  remember  the  days  when  the  flag  of  the  Mex- 
ican republic  floated  over  the  pueblo.  La  senora  is  bowed 
beneath  the  weight  of  years,  but  she  has  not  forgotten  how 
she  danced  in  the  moonlight  under  the  golden-fruited  or- 
ange trees,  to  the  trilling  of  mandolins ;  and  well  she  re- 
calls how,  with  a  glance  from  her  bright  eyes,  she  brought 
the  gay  caballero  to  her  feet. 

"Si  sefior,  the  pomegranate  blossom  that  Manuel  stuck 
in  my  hair  was  not  redder  than  my  cheek,  and  my  step  was 
light  in  the  dance." 

Could  she  ever  have  been  young!  The  brown  cheek  be- 
neath the  faded  rebozo  is  seamed  with  wrinkles  now,  and 
the  light  step  has  become  a  waddle  since  last  she  skipped 
the  fandango  with  Manuel. 

But  Manuel,  too,  has  his  memories.  He  will  tell  of  the 
trials  for  supremacy  in  feats  of  skill  and  strength  among 
the  youths,  when  oftentime  the  lawless  blood  would  be 
spilled  as  freely  as  new  wine;  of  the  promenade  in  the 
Plaza,  head  up  and  broad-brimmed  sombrero  set  jauntily 
on  one  side,  shoulders  back,  spurs  jangling — all  with  intent 
to  charm  the  pretty  maiden,  duena-guarded,  whose  eyes  in- 
terpreted the  speech  denied;  of  the  serenade  under  the 
grated  window  with  only  the  stars  to  see  the  red  rose  that 
fluttered  down  to  the  hand  of  the  caballero. 


Manuel  is  not  the  picturesque  figure  of  olden  time.  The 
showy  jacket  of  velveteen,  the  silken  sash,  the  broad- 
brimmed  sombrero,  heavy  with  gold  braid,,  have  been  doflfed 
for  the  commonplace  garb  that  bears  the  stamp  "ready 
made"  in  every  ugly  fold. 

Ambition  is  not  the  predominant  trait  of  these  people  of 
the  adobe.  There  is  always  a  "tomorrow"  for  them.  As 
for  today — the  sunshine  is  warm,  and  there  is  enough  corn 
in  the  jar  for  the  coming  meal  of  tortillas.  After  that, 
"God  will  provide." 

It  is  the  firm,  unwavering  conviction  that  nothing  which 
can  be  put  off  until  tomorrow  should  be  done  today,  that 
keeps  the  Mexican  citizen  high  and  dry  upon  the  strand, 
while  the  tide  of  progress  sweeps  by  and  touches  him  not. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  while  el  senor  dreamed  in 
the  shadow  of  his  adobe,  a  city  grew  up  about  him — a  city 
of  120,000  inhabitants,  with  a  $5oc  000  court  house  and 
a  $200,000  city  hall,  with  quarter-of-a-million-dollar  bus- 
iness blocks  and  miles  of  tasteful  homes,  with  a  street  rail- 
way system  costing  $4,000,000,  and  the  best  hotels  in  the 
world — the  Los  Angeles  of  today. 


Here  in  the  garden.  Love,  where  roses  twine, 
I  linger  for  a  glance  from  thy  sweet  eyes. 

For  thee  and  me  are  all  the  stars  ashine; 
Soul  of  my  heart,  I  await.    Arise !  Arise ! 


10 


W\}t  sins  mi  (iuts  of  t\\t  QlitQ. 


HTREET  CAR  jaunts  about  Los  Angeles  afford  the 
tourist  every  opportunity  to  learn  the  ins  and  outs  of 
the  city,  and  there  is  no  more  enjoyable  way  of  "seeing  the 
sights"  than  this.  Boarding  the  first  car  that  chances  to  pass 
along  Spring  street  or  on  Broadway,  the  sightseer  is  carried 
far  from  "the  humming  hive  of  industry,"  through  streets 
shaded  by  pepper  and  eucalyptus  trees,  to  one  of  the  many 
parks  that  beautify  the  city,  to  the  poppy  fields,  or  to  nearby 
orange  groves,  where,  if  it  be  the  season,  he  may  (with  the 
owner's  permission),  sample  the  golden  fruits  of  Hesperides 
right  where  they  grow.  Or,  crossing  the  river,  he  views 
from  Boyle  Heights  the  panorama  spread  out  before  him,- — 
a  "picture  fair  to  see,"  embracing  as  it  does  the  distant  moun- 
tains, the  sweep  of  valley,  and  in  the  immediate  foreground 
the  city,  with  the  sunlight  warm  upon  its  roofs  and  heaven- 
reaching  spires. 

Another  day,  finding  himself  in  old  Los  Angeles,  he  leaves 
the  car  at  the  Plaza,  lured  by  the  quaintly  foreign  aspect  of 
that  quarter,  and  explores  "Chinatown,"  or  rambles  among 
the  adobes  of  "Sonoratown."  Then,  choosing  a  new  route, 
he  passes  through  the  oil  well  territory,  where  forests  of 
derricks  are  etched  against  the  sky. 

The  University  line  traverses  the  business  portion  of  the 
city  on  Spring  street ;  its  railroad  terminus  is  the  University 
station  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway.  Near  this  station 
is  Agricultural  park,  where  pedigreed  horses  speed  over  the 
finest  track  in  Southern  California.  En  route  to  East  Los 
Angeles,  the  cars  pass  the  University  of  Southern  California, 
thence  through  the  fashionable  residence  district  of  Figueroa 
and  Adams  streets.  Presently  the  business  center  is  reached, 
left  behind,  and  the  picturesque  Plaza  church,  the  Plaza, 
"Chinatown"  and  "Sonoratown"  are  at  hand.  Further  on 
is  Elysian  park,  a  pleasure  ground  of  five  hundred  acres, 
largely  unimproved,  the  terraces  of  which,  as  seen  from  the 
cars,  present  to  view  a  rich  mosaic  of  tropical  bloom.  Cars 
at  intervals  of  five  minutes. 

The  Westlake  park  line  cars  leave  Spring  and  Second 
streets  every  seven  minutes,  going  through  the  oil  district, 
and  continuing,  stop  at  Westlake  park.    This  is,  perhaps,  the 


13 


most  popular  pleasure  ground  in  the  city,  and  crowds  of 
people  flock  thither  on  Sundays  to  enjoy  the  band  concerts. 
Although  but  thirty-five  acres  in  extent,  the  park  has  fine 
drives,  a  lake  upon  whose  placid  surface  row-boats  skim 
hither  and  thither,  a  miniature  waterfall,  and  a  cacti  corner, 
2;f_>  sandwiched  in  between  beds  of  bloom  and  banks  of  verdure. 
"nq^  The  Pico  Heights  line  cars  carry  the  tourist  directly  to 

Country  Club  and  golf  grounds,  operating  from  Temple 
block  via  Broadway,  Tenth,  Flower  and  Pico  streets.  Cars 
every  five  minutes. 

Boyle  Heights  and  Seventh  street  line  cars  cross  the  busi- 
ness center  of  the  city,  operating  via  First  street,  thence  to 
Broadway,  passing  the  City  Hall  and  Public  Library,  and  the 
temporary  quarters  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  and  con- 
tinuing to  Seventh  street  and  Westlake  park.  Or,  boarding 
the  car  at  First  street  and  journeying  eastward,  past  the 
Santa  Fe  and  Salt  Lake  Railway  stations,  the  tourist  finds 
himself  in  Boyle  Heights,  with  beautiful  Hollenbeck  park 
near  by.     Cars  every  five  minutes. 

Grand  and  Downey  avenue  line  cars  traverse  the  main 
streets  of  the  city,  from  Jefiferson  street  and  Grand  avenue, 
via  Grand  avenue.  Seventh,  Broadway,  First,  Spring,  Main, 
San  Fernando  streets,  Downey  avenue  and  Pritchard  street 
to  Eastlake  park,  crossing  the  San  Fernando  street  viaduct, 
a  steel  structure  1800  feet  long.  On  Broadway  these  cars 
pass  the  City  Hall  and  Public  Library,  and  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce  building ;  on  North  Main  street,  the  Plaza  church, 
the  Plaza,  "Sonoratown"  and  "Chinatown;"  on  San  Fer- 
nando street  the  River  station  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Rail- 
way, and  lastly,  the  Downey  avenue  stations  of  the  Santa  Fe 
and  Salt  Lake  Railway  Companies.  Stopping  at  Eastlake 
park,  the  tourist  finds  this  resort,  with  its  winding  walks,  its 
lily-bordered  lakelet,  its  beds  of  bloom  and  its  rustic  seats, 
placed  in  shady  nooks,  a  very  pleasant  place  in  which  to 
while  away  an  hour.    Cars  every  five  minutes. 


14 


West  Ninth  street  line  cars  run  from  Temple  block, 
operating  via  Main,  First,  Spring  and  Ninth  streets 
to  Grand  View  avenue.    Cars  every  five  minutes. 

Washington  street  line  cars  leave  the  Santa  Fe  depot 
at  intervals  of  six  minutes,  running  on  Second  street  to 
Spring,  thence,  via  Fifth,  Olive,  Sixth,  Figueroa  and  Wash- 
ington streets  to  Rosedale  cemetery.  Central  park,  a  square 
bounded  by  Fifth,  Olive,  Sixth  and  Hill  streets,  is  on  the 
line.  The  tourist  delights  in  this  retreat,  finding  here  com- 
fortable seats  placed  in  the  shade  of  wide-spreading  trees, 
with  naught  but  the  signs  "Do  not  pick  the  flowers"  to  mar 
the  prospect.    Cars  every  six  minutes. 

Eastlake  park  line  cars  run  from  Temple  block,  via  Main 
street,  to  Eastlake  park,  passing  through  the  manufacturing 
quarter  of  the  city.    Cars  at  intervals  of  twelve  minutes. 

Main  street  line  cars  operate  from  Temple  block,  via  Main 
and  Jefferson  streets  to  Agricultural  park,  passing  the 
Cathedral  of  St.  Vibiana,  on  Main  street  near  Second,  and 
the  Chutes,  corner  of  Main  and  Washington  streets,  a  family 
resort  open  day  and  evening.     Cars  every  five  minutes. 

Vernon  line  cars  leave  Second  and  Spring  streets  for  Ver- 
non every  eight  minutes.  These  cars  carry  the  tourist,  via 
Second  street  and  Central  avenue,  through  that  part  of  the 
city  which  was,  but  a  few  years  since,  planted  to  orange 
groves  and  vineyards.  Streets  are  now  cut  through  the 
broad  acres,  and  houses  have  spring  up  as  thickly  as  mush- 
rooms. The  Chinese  vegetable  gardens  lie  beyond  the  end 
of  the  line.  At  the  foot  of  Fifth  street,  the  cars  pass  the 
Southern  Pacific  station  (Arcade). 

Maple  avenue  line  cars  pass  Temple  block  at  intervals  of 
twelve  minutes,  operating  via  Main,  First,  Spring,  Fifth 
streets  and  Maple  avenue  to  Thirty-second  street. 

San  Pedro  street  line  cars  leave  Temple  block  every  ten 
minutes,  traversing  Main,  Fifth  and  San  Pedro  streets  to 
Thirtieth  street. 

Aliso  street  line  cars  operate  from  First  and  Spring  streets 
to  Evergreen  cemetery,  via  First,  Los  Angeles,  Aliso  streets 
and  Brooklyn  avenue.    Cars  every  fifteen  minutes. 


15 


K<fM 


East  Ninth  street  cars  leave  First  and  Spring  streets  at 
intervals  of  twelve  minutes,  running  on  First,  Santa  Fe  ave- 
nue, Mateo  and  East  Ninth  streets  to  Main,  and  passing 
the  Santa  Fe  station  (La  Grande). 

Southern  Pacific  depot  line  cars  connect  with  all  trains 
at  Arcade  station,  and  run  from  that  station  to  First  street, 
Salt  Lake  station  via  Fifth,  San  Pedro,  Spring  and  First 
streets.     Cars  every  six  minutes. 

Santa  Fe  depot  line  cars  connect  with  all  Santa  Fe  Rail- 
way trains  at  La  Grande  station,  and  operates  from  the 
depot  via  Second  street  to  Spring.    Cars  every  six  minutes. 

Transfers  issued  to  all  conecting  lines. 

The  Los  Angeles  and  Pasadena  Electric  Railway  line 
runs  cars  every  fifteen  minutes  from  Fourth  street,  between 
Spring  and  Broadway.  For  twenty-five  cents,  which  is 
round-trip  fare,  the  tourist  may  visit  Pasadena,  the  "Crown 
of  the  Valley,"  passing  the  Ostrich  Farm  en  route.  At  Pas- 
adena connections  are  made  with  the  Altadena  line  cars, 
which  whisk  the  traveler  through  fields  of  golden  poppies,  to 
the  very  foot  of  the  Mount  Lowe  Incline  Railway. 

The  Santa  Monica  Scenic  Electric  line  cars  leave  Fourth 
street  station,  between  Broadway  and  Hill  streets,  via  Hill 
and  Sixteenth  streets,  for  Santa  Monica  and  Ocean  park 
every  half  hour,  and  in  an  hour's  time  the  tourist  is  sniffing 
the  salt  ocean  breeze  with  keen  delight.  A  stop  may  be 
made,  en  route,  at  Sawtelle,  near  which  is  the  Pacific  Branch 
National  Soldiers'  Home — an  interesting  place  to  visit.  Or, 
if  the  Foothill  Route  is  chosen,  the  cars  leaving  the  same 
station  hourly,  the  traveler  reaches  Santa  Monica  by  way 
of  Bellevue  avenue  and  beautiful  Hollywood.  Round-trip 
fare,  fifty  cents. 

There  is  an  observation  car,  placarded  "Seeing  Los  An- 
geles," which  for  fifty  cents,  carries  the  tourist  over  the 
principal  routes  of  the  city  car  lines.  Ofhce  on  Fourth 
street,  between  Spring  and  Broadway. 


16 


©tj0  Cliitlbr^n  0  JparabtB^- 


/  JhrC.y' 


'<., 


^. 


rill  HAT  a  paradise  for  children  is  Southern  California! 
lAl  Here  the  practice  of  housing  the  little  ones  in  heated 
rooms  nine  months  in  the  year,  for  fear  of  frost-bite,  is 
unknown,  as  is  also  the  practice  of  keeping  them  cool  for 
the  other  three  months — to  avoid  sunstroke.  No !  All 
outdoors  is  the  children's  playground,  three  hundred  and 
sixty  out  of  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  of  our  win- 
terless  year. 

For  them  there  is  plenty  of  sunshine,  the  tropic  warmth 
of  which,  in  summer,  is  tempered  by  the  salt  breezes  that 
blow  up  from  the  sea.  For  them  the  ocean  waves  lay 
upon  the  shining  sands  the  treasures  of  the  deep — bright 
shells  and  pretty  "mosses."  For  them  the  orange  ripens 
on  the  bough,  and  the  seductive  green  apple  allures,  and 
harms  not.  For  them  the  wild  flowers  grow  in  great  pro- 
fusion, and  the  mocking  birds  sing  all  the  songs  they  know. 

The  California  boy  does  not  tarry  by  the  fire  on  a  No- 
vember day,  nor  does  he  put  on  muffler  and  mittens  when 
he  goes  a-coasting.  His  manner  of  coasting  is  unique,  and 
causes  his  Eastern  cousin  to  wonder  thereat.  Young  Cali- 
fornia selects  a  steep  hillside,  where  the  dry  mustard  stalks 
and  other  growth  of  the  previous  summer  have  been  tram- 
pled flat,  and  on  the  most  primitive  of  toboggans  he  skims 
down  the  incline  as  swiftly  as  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

In  this  land  of  sunshine.  Mother  Nature  dowers  the  chil- 
dren of  men  with  that  best  of  heritage,  good  health.  It  is 
not  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  child  who  is  so  fortunate 
as  to  be  born  in  California  is  practically  immune  from  those 
disorders  of  childhood  that,  in  the  East,  carry  oflf  hun- 
dreds of  innocents  every  season. 

In  this  favored  clime  the  "barefoot  boy"  is  in  evidence 
from  June  until  June;  and  yet  the  bottle  of  cough  syrup 
stands  on  the  top  shelf  in  the  pantry,  in  company  with  the 
bottle  of  cholera  mixture,  and  both  are  dust-powdered. 
Even  little  Ah  Sid  of  the  Chinese  quarter  has  a  peachy 
bloom  upon  his  satin-smooth  cheeks ;  and  one  rarely  sees, 
among  the  street  gamins,  a  face  that  is  not — save  for  dirt — 
kissable. 


19 


Ujra,........iilllllt^^,>v5...;;r>-:i';l      f. _,«.„.„ 


iliiiiinniii|i«>S>>A' 


HERE  is  not  a  large  city  west  of  the  Rocky  moun- 
tains that  does  not  environ  a  Chinatown.  In  San 
Francisco  alone  forty  thousand  Chinamen  carry  on  the 
business  of  life,  dwelling  by  themselves,  a  city  within  a  city. 
Nowhere  outside  the  "flowery  kingdom"  is  one  afforded 
a  better  opportunity  for  study  of  the  little  yellow  man — 
how  he  lives,  moves  and  has  his  being. 

The  Chinese  settlement  of  Los  Angeles  ranks  next  in 
importance  to  that  of  San  Francisco.  Many  of  the  former 
homes  of  Spanish  aristocracy,  low-eaved  adobes  with  nar- 
row, barred  windows  and  deep,  pillared  porches,  have  been 
given  over  to  an  alien  race.  In  the  salas,  where  the  Picos, 
the  Carillos,  the  Sepulvedas  and  other  grandees  once  made 
merry.  Hop  Sing,  the  "washee"  man,  does  up  the  Angeleno's 
linen,  or  Wing  Lee,  the  highbinder,  plots  the  downfall  of 
some  rival  "tong."  Over  the  Plaza,  the  center  of  the  old- 
time  pueblo,  the  flag  of  the  dragon  floats,  where  once  waved 
the  proud  and  imperial  banner  of  Spain. 

To  the  stranger  within  these  gates,  such  quaint  bits  of 
Oriental  life  are  very  interesting.  The  visitor  spends  de- 
lightful hours  prowling  up  and  down  the  narrow,  crooked 
streets  of  the  Chinese  quarter,  feeling  himself  a  foreigner 
in  his  own  land  as  he  rubs  elbows  with  wild-eyed  hatchet 
men,  spectacled  priests,  painted  odalisques,  dirty  coolies,  and 
the  Chinese  muck-a-muck  whose  gorgeous  raiments  pro- 
claim the  man  of  high  estate.  He  loiters  by  a  balconied 
tenement,  the  interior  of  which  is  screened  from  view  by 
flowering  shrubs  growing  in  huge  jars, listening  to  the  plunk- 
plunk  of  some  stringed  instrument,  and  catching  a  glimpse, 
now  and  then,  of  a  piquant  face  through  shuttered  win- 
dows. He  wanders  into  a  high-class  restaurant,  resplen- 
dent with  gilt  lacquer-work,  glittering  with  mirrors,  and 
fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  sacred  lilies,  flowering  in 
shallow  bowls,   and  he  partakes   of  strange  dishes   served 


20 


upon  a  wonderful  table  of  teakwood,  which  is  only  to  be 
matched  in  beauty  by  the  equally  wonderful  chairs  of  ebony, 
inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  in  fanciful  designs.  He  in- 
vades the  joss  house,  or  place  of  worship,  in  which  are 
shrined  grotesque  deities  on  altars  richly  carved,  and  also 
[the  Chinese  theater,  where  he  makes  the  acquaintance  of  the 
(Thespians  of  the  Chinese  stage.  Finally,  he  bargains  for 
ivory  carvings,  squat  teapots  and  embroidered  crepe  stuffs 
over  the  counter  of  the  sleek  merchant  with  a  button  on 
his  cap. 

"John"  plies  many  trades  down  here  in  "Little  China." 
He  makes  "heap  fine"  cigars  from  the  leaf  of  the  cabbage; 
he  manufactures  the  shoes  which  render  the  comings  and 
goings  of  the  Chinese  as  noiseless  as  the  tread  of  a  cat; 
he  barbers  the  dandy  in  the  sky-blue  silk  blouse,  and  he 
empties  the  purse  of  this  same  dandy  in  a  game  of  fan-tan, 

"The  butcher,  the  baker,  the  candlestick  maker" — all  may 
be  found  in  the  dark,  stuffy,  two-bj^-four  apartments  be- 
hind the  gay,  paper  lanterns  that,  with  the  coming  of  even- 
ing, transform  the  dingy  quarter  into  fairyland. 

The  Chinese  submit  patiently  to  the  intrusion  of  the 
"Melican  man,"  on  sight-seeing  bent,  who  pokes  his  intru- 
sive nose  into  every  nook  and  corner  of  "John's"  habita- 
tion. But  he  takes  his  revenge,  does  "John."  Seek  to  ac- 
quire information  from  that  picturesque  personage,  silk 
bloused  and  bell  hatted,  who  has  been  observing  your  prog- 
ress up  the  street  from  the  tail  of  his  oblique  eye.  The 
sphinx  that  watches  over  the  Egyptian  desert,  guarding  the 
secrets  of  centuries,  is  not  more  dumb  than  is  he. 

The  Chinese  have  a  way  of  celebrating  the  New  Year 
a  month  later  than  do  other  people.  When  the  flag  of  the 
dragon  flies  above  the  Chinese  consulate  and  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Six  Companies,  when  Mrs.  "John"  and  all 
the  Misses  "John"  go  abroad  in  their  many-colored  best 
clothes,  with  coiffures  newly  arranged  and  bristling  with 
jeweled  pins,  and  when  "John,"  the  vegetable  man,  leaves 
a  China  lily  with  the  daily  purchase  of  garden  stuff,  we 
may  know  that  the  sacred  flower  is  blooming  on  every  altar 
in  Chinatown. 


21 


It  is  at  this  time  that  the  inhabitants  of  "Little  China" 
go  about  shaking  hands  with  themselves,  in  their  strange, 
Oriental  fashion ;  and  each  in  passing  wishes  the  other 
''Kung  hay  fat  tchoy,"  or  great  prosperity. 

The  Chinese  have  a  custom  which  the  Americans  would 
do  well  to  imitate.  They  invariably  pay  their  debts  on  the 
last  day  of  the  old  year,  and  start  out  the  new  year  with 
a  clean  record.  Beautiful  red  cards,  scrawled  all  over  with 
hieroglyphics  in  very  black  ink,  are  posted  above  door  and 
window,  so  that  all  who  pass  may  know  that  Hop  Sing,  the 
barber,  or  Wing  Lee,  the  merchant,  has  settled  his  ac- 
counts. 

Having  done  his  duty  by  his  fellow  man,  the  follower  of 
Confucius  gets  himself  up  in  a  pea  green  silk  blouse  and 
yellow  trousers,  or  vice  versa,  and  repairs  to  the  joss  house 
to  purge  himself  of  twelve  months'  accumulation  of  sin. 
There  on  a  carven  altar,  richly  gilded,  sits  the  Joss,  or 
judge,  before  him  an  immense  brass  urn  from  which  rise 
spirals  of  blue  smoke.  Great  bowls  of  China  lilies,  the 
blooming  of  which,  at  the  auspicious  moment,  ensures 
peace  and  prosperity  for  the  coming  year,  flank  the  urn, 
their  cloying  sweetness  mingling  with  the  odor  of  burning 
punk. 

The  tourist  who  is  in  California  at  this  season  should  see 
jg,     ^  the   Chinese  quarter  by   lantern  light.     In   early   evening, 

\^m\^  with  the  dirt  and   dinginess  hidden  by   friendly  shadows, 

Jf§\Jg  Chinatown,   outwardly,    is   at    its   best.      In   the   gathering 

Jl  wf  w^L^  dusk  the  lanterns  that  hang  above  the  doorways  glow  like 
^  ^  ^  ^  great  jewels.  Under  their  soft  light  the  strangely  gar- 
mented people,  shuffling  noiselessly  to  and  fro  in  their  odd, 
thick-soled  footgear,  seem  like  figures  in  a  pantomime — or  a 
hasheesh  dream. 

The  plump  brown  children  of  the  tradesmen  have  not 
yet  been  tucked  in  their  little  beds,  and  are  playing  con- 
tentedly in  the  gutter  or  swarming  about  the  doorways. 
Their  Wadded  blouses,  of  a  bright  green,  yellow,  blue  or 
purple,  and  their  wide,  silken  trousers  are  reproductions  in 
miniature  of  their  parents'  attire.  They  look  for  all  the 
world  as  if  they  had  just  stepped  off  a  fan  or  a  tea  chest. 


22 


Earlier  in  the  day,  the  tourist  with  a  propensity  for  ko- 
daking the  things  quaint  or  curious  which  he  encounters 
upon  his  travels  might  have  sought  in  vain  for  such  a 
picture  as  this.  "John"  is  very  proud  of  his  bric-a-brac 
babies,  but  no  amount  of  blandishments  will  induce  him 
to  allow  the  "Melican  man"  to  take  the  family  group  with 
a  camera.  Nothing  will  alter  his  profound  conviction  that 
the  Evil  Eye  lurks  somewhere  in  that  mysterious  instru- 
ment, and  if  one  is  but  pointed  in  their  direction,  presto! 
every  slant-eyed  cherub  disappears. 

Here  is  a  gambling  den.  The  game  of  fan-tan  is  the 
favorite  sport  of  the  Chinese.  They  build  strongholds  with 
iron-barred  doors,  approached  by  secret  passages,  the  en- 
trance to  which  may  be  found  in  the  fish  market,  the  apoth- 
ecary shop,  or  any  other  unlikely  place.  Thus  they  may 
indulge  in  the  forbidden  sport,  undisturbed  by  forebodings 
of  unexpected  visits  from  the  police. 

Perchance  the  tourist  comes  upon  a  door  that  has  been 
carelessly  left  ajar,  and  pushing  it  open  he  sees  Chinamen 
stretched  at  full  length  upon  dirty  bunks,  the  mouthpiece  of 
an  opium  pipe  between  the  lips  or  dropping  from  the  slack 
hand.  Eyes  that  are  as  the  eyes  of  the  dead,  staring  un- 
winkingly,  are  upon  him ;  foul  odors  assail  his  nostrils.  He 
gropes  his  way  back  to  the  street,  in  no  wise  anxious  to 
continue  explorations. 

As  the  hour  grows  later,  the  crowd  increases.  From 
alleys  and  byways,  from  nooks  and  crannies,  the  denizens 
emerge,  each  dressed  in  his  best — the  guests  that  are  bid- 
den to  the  feast,  the  gambler,  who  hopes  to  retrieve  the 
losses  of  last  night  by  the  winnings  of  this,  the  highbinder, 
who  awaits  in  yonder  passage  the  coming  of  his  victim. 
Marchessault  street  and  its  arteries  are  pulsing  with  life. 


iSrc.i 


23 


Proclamation  posted  on  the  walls  of  Chinatown  during  Chinese  New 
Year,  warning  Chinamen  to  abstain  from  the  firing  of  crackers  under  the 
penalty  of  the  American  law  and  signed  by  the  Chinese  Consul. 


Paaaa?«a.  A  Qltti}  of  Ifom^a. 


PyljAN  wants  but  little  here  below" — and  less  in  Pasa- 
[44J      dena.      A    hammock    swung  under   a  green  roof  of 
leaves,  a  palm-leaf  fan  and  a  clear  conscience,  and 
"The  new  comer 
In  deathless  summer 
Dreams  away  troubles." 

The  Pasadena  architect  plans  wisely ;  he  knows  the  value 
of  air  and  sunshine,  and  the  residences  are  built  accord- 
ingly. Broad  verandas  are  a  feature  of  the  up-to-date  house, 
and  in  the  blossoming  vines  that  curtain  them,  birds  twit- 
ter and  sing  all  day  long.  What  possibilities  of  healthful 
out-of-door  life  are  suggested  in  these  airy,  sunshine-filled 
spaces,  where  swaying  hammocks  and  graceful  willow 
chairs  invite  repose !  Gypsy  tables  are  here,  too,  strewn 
with  the  latest  periodicals  and  heaped  with  delicious  fruits, 
or  laid,  ready  for  the  impromptu  tea. 

The  well-kept  lawn  is  dotted  all  over  its  velvety  ex- 
panse with  brilliant  beds  of  rare  flowers,  while  stately 
palms  and  fern-like  peppers  cast  tremulous  shadows  upon 
the  smooth  turf.  Fragrant  oleanders,  aglow  with  bloom, 
masses  of  heliotrope,  flinging  a  purple  spray  to  the  very 
eaves,  and  waxen-cupped  magnolias  blend  a  potpourri  of 
scents.  And  the  roses ! — they  are  everywhere,  and  beautiful 
beyond  description. 

Every  year,  on  New  Year's  day,  Pasadena  holds  a  Tour- 
nament of  Roses — a  fete  which  attracts  hundreds  of  vis- 
itors. 

On  the  eve  of  the  eventful  day  the  city  dons  holiday 
garb.  Everywhere  the  blue  and  gold  of  California  may  be 
seen — along  the  line  of  march,  on  the  facades  of  business 
blocks  and  private  dwellings,  and  even  on  the  hat  of  the 
driver  of  the  hotel  'bus. 

The  last  pennant  is  flung  to  the  breeze,  the  last  garland 
is  twined,  and  all  the  world  and  his  wife  are  bidden  to  the 
festival. 

"A  bugle  call,  heard  above  the  jangle  of  street  car  bells 
and  the  clatter  of  passing  vehicles,  announces  the  herald's 
coming.  A  striking  figure  is  the  herald,  in  gold-laced  cloak 
and  hat,  mounted  on  a  spirited  steed  caparisoned  with  vi- 
olets. 

27 


After  him  come  the  Woodmen  in  a  bower  of  green,  the 
Americus  Club  appareled  in  white  and  yellow,  with  huge 
yellow  chrysanthemums  in  their  buttonholes,  a  Japanese 
float,  the  Colonial  coach  of  George  Washington,  a  float 
.  symbolic  of  early  days,  with  its  red-shirted  gold-diggers 
and  its  monk  in  the  brown  habit  of  the  Franciscans,  a 
pampas  plume  float,  and  many  more. 

A  page  from  the  Orient  is  the  Japanese  float,  covered 
from  canopy  to  running-gear  with  bright-hued  chrysanthe- 
mums, and  swarming  with  Yum  Yums  and  Pitti  Sings. 

The  stately  coach  of  George  Washington,  filled  with  pas- 
sengers, costumed  quaintly,  is  covered  with  roses — and 
such  roses !  Great  bunches  of  velvety  bloom,  with  glowing 
golden  hearts.  The  postillions  wear  powdered  wigs,  and 
are  habited  in  Colonial  livery. 

There  are  private  turn-outs  galore — blossom-bedecked 
carriages,  four-in-hands,  tallyhos  and  dog-carts.  Each  ve- 
hicle carries  out  its  own  color  scheme — pink,  yellow,  red, 
green,  blue,  white  or  violet,  respectively — in  the  toilets  of 
the  ladies,  in  the  liveries  and  in  the  decorations. 

There  are  vehicles  covered  with  smilax,  even  the  running- 
gear  being  hidden  by  the  dainty  vine ;  others  that  blossom 
out  in  callas,  poinsettias,  marigolds,  geraniums,  roses,  violets 
or  wild  flowers,  as  fancy  dictates.  Many  choose  the  white 
or  yellow  marguerite  for  their  flower ;  others  employ 
hundreds  of  fragrant  carnations  in  the  decoration  of  a  single 
carriage. 

One  is  tempted  to  ask :  "Why  is  it  called  a  tournament 
of  roses,  when  the  gardens  and  uplands  have  contributed 
of  every  flower  that  blooms  to  make  a  California  holiday?" 

The  procession  comes  to  an  end  with  a  long  string  of 
decorated  bicycles  and  pony  carts.  At  length  the  merry- 
makers, one  by  one,  drop  from  the  line,  and  the  spectators 
realize  that  they  must  leave  fairyland  and  go  back  to  the 
work-a-day  world. 

By  nightfall  the  crushed  and  dying  flowers,  strewn  under- 
foot, and  the  pennants,  flapping  idly  in  the  soft  air,  alone 
bear  witness  that  here  has  been  held  a  Tournament  of 
Roses." 


28 


At  tlj^  Q^Btnrli  Jarm^ 


ii 


HEN  the  tourist  has  learned  for  himself  a  few  facts 
concerning  our  sub-tropical  winters  and  sub-Arctic 
summers,  when  he  has  seen  wheat  fields  skirted  by  vineyards 
and  orange  groves,  and  vice  versa,  when  he  beholds  the  lotus 
of  the  Nile  flourishing  in  the  lakelets  of  our  parks,  seeming 
not  to  know  the  difference  between  these  skies  and  the  sky 
that  broods  over  Egypt,  when  he  samples  apples,  pears, 
peaches,  plums,  figs,  oranges,  lemons,  almonds,  apricots, 
guavas,  loquats  and  persimmons  from  the  same 
orchard,  when  he  journeys  down  Santa  Barbara-way 
and  comes  upon  a  field  of  pampas — the  same  pampas  that, 
according  to  his  school  geography,  is  a  product  of  the  South 
American  llanos,  he  will  accept  without  question  the  state- 
ment that  ostriches,  as  well  as  potatoes,  are  "farmed"  in 
Southern  California. 

If  any  one  wishes  to  see  this  demonstrated,  he  has  only  to 
visit  the  South  Pasadena  Ostrich  Farm,  where  he  will  find 
that  picturesque  fowl  in  a  great  many  sizes,  from  the  ma- 
ture feather-producer  to  the  last  pin-feathered  arrival. 

The  man  in  charge  will  tell  you  that  the  weight  of  a  full- 
grown  ostrich  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  that  it  stands 
seven  feet  high  and  yields  three  crops  of  feathers  a  year, 
that  the  birds  are  fed  on  alfalfa,  sugar  beets  and  corn,  that 
the  female  will  scoop  a  hole  in  the  sand  in  some  retired  cor- 
ner, and  will  then  lay  an  egg  every  other  day  until  twelve  or 
fourteen  have  been  laid,  when  she  will  begin  setting,  the  male 
bird  relieving  her  from  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  until 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  with  great  regularity,  that  the 
chicks  emerge  from  the  eggs  in  about  forty  days,  and  begin 
to  hustle  for  themselves  when  they  are  three  days  old — all 
this  and  much  more  he  will  tell  you,  without  ever  stopping 
to  take  breath. 

If  you  express  surprise  at  finding  the  raw  feathers  some- 
what different  from  those  which  your  wife  wears  on  her 
bonnet,  he  will  tell  you  that  they  will  look  better  when  they 
have  been  washed,  and  starched,  and  beaten,  and  dyed,  and 
steamed  and  curled;  and,  very  likely,  he  will  offer  to  sell 
your  wife  a  pair  of  chicks,  so  that  she  may  take  them  home 
and  raise  her  own  bonnet  trimmingfs. 


30 


J/.OV^—     X 


1^^  ®aUi|ljo  tfl  laltihrin'H  trnh  Bnn  (iabml. 


IIVEN  a  California  morning,  early  summer  preferred, 
with  the  sun  smiling  in  a  sky  so  dazzingly  blue  that 
it  might  have  been  freshly  washed,  with  a  salt  breeze  blow- 
ing up  from  the  sea  and  the  country  before,  where  to  choose, 
given  all  these  things,  and  in  addition,  a  well-filled  lunch 
basket  stowed  securely  under  the  front  seat  of  the  tallyho, 
and  what  more  could  mortal  desire  ? 

Whither  is  the  tourist  bound,  this  radiantly  beautiful 
morning?  To  Baldwin's  ranch,  known  wherever  the  name 
California  is  known ;  and  returning  by  the  way  of  San  Ga- 
briel, a  stop  will  be  made  at  the  old  mission. 

With  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  a  shrill  braying  of  horns,  the 
tallyho  zig-zags  through  the  streets  of  "Sonoratown,"  and 
presently  emerges  on  the  highroad  that  leads  Pasadena- 
ward. 

The  man  who  said  he  "didn't  like  the  mountains  because 
they  hid  the  scenery"  is  not  of  this  party,  evidently,  judg- 
ing by  the  expressions  called  forth  by  the  sight  of  the 
Sierra  IMadre  range  that  looms  like  a  mighty  citadel  far 
ahead.  The  Young  Person  thinks  the  mountains  "perfectly 
sweet."  her  Big  Brother  votes  them  "immense,"  and  the  en- 
thusiastic Globe  Trotter  proclaims  them  "out  of  sight." 

The  tallyho  sweeps  through  Pasadena,  past  stately  man- 
sions set  in  acres  of  green  lawn,  past  rose-covered  cottages 
and  handsome  business  blocks,  lining  broad,  shaded  streets, 
and  takes  the  highway  to  Santa  Anita. 

After  a  time  the  Big  Brother  thinks  of  the  lunch  hamper 
under  the  front  seat.  He  consults  his  watch,  and  finds  that 
the  timepiece  announces  the  noon  hour. 

"I  say,"  he  calls  to  the  driver,  "how  long  before  we  reach 
Baldwin's  ranch?" 

"We  have  been  on  Baldwin's  ranch  for  twenty  minutes  or 
more,"  the  driver  makes  reply. 

A  big  ranch  of  47,000  acres  is  not  to  be  traversed  in  a 
hurry.  The  tallyho  whirls  down  a  long  avenue  of  eucalypti, 
there  is  apparently  no  end  to  it,  on  and  on,  past  groves  of 


32 


orange  trees  starred  with  blossoms  that  gleam  waxen-white 
above  the  golden  fruit  still  ungathered,  past  olive  orchards 
and  vineyards  vmtil  the  home  grounds  of  Santa  Anita  are 
reached.  Here  are  winding  paths,  threading  mazes  of 
shrubbery,  that  seem  made  for  loitering  lovers ;  rustic 
houses  embowered  in  vines  and  almost  hidden  from  view 
by  broad-leaved  tropical  plants,  and  flowers  everywhere. 
The  graveled  walks  are  bordered  with  purple  violets,  and  the 
waters  of  the  pretty  lakelet  reflect  snowy  banks  of  calla  lilies. 
Red  geraniums  burn  like  clear  flames  in  the  shrubberies, 
and  roses  mingle  their  sweetness  with  the  scent  of  orange 
blossoms. 

Beyond  the  home  grounds  are  the  stables,  and  here  one  of 
the  most  interesting  features  of  the  ranch.  Lucky  Baldwin's 
"string"  of  race  horses,  is  to  be  seen.  Row  after  row  of 
stables,  divided  into  commodious  box  stalls,  are  ranged  along 
the  race  track,  where  the  young  horses  are  broken  to  the  ser- 
ious work  preceding  the  purse-winning  on  Eastern  tracks. 

The  upper  half  of  each  door,  leading  to  the  stalls,  is  open 
to  admit  light  and  air;  and  as  the  sight-seers  pass  along, 
velvety  noses  are  thrust  out,  and  wistful  eyes  beg  for  just  a 
taste  of  the  juicy  grass,  growing  beside  the  fence. 

In  an  adjoining  pasture  there  are  always  a  number  of 
colts — rough-coated  little  fellows,  without  a  trace  of  pedi- 
gree about  them,  so  for  as  is  apparent  to  the  uninitiated 
eye  of  the  tourist.  But  that  is  where  the  uninitiated  eye  is  at 
fault,  for  every  one  of  these  little  creatures  is  a  thorough- 
bred. 

Luncheon  dispatched,  the  driver  calls  "All  aboard  for  San 
Gabriel." 

That  small  settlement  seems  to  have  been  left  to  itself  for 
ages,  "the  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot."  There 
are  a  half-dozen  time-stained  adobe  houses  clustered  about 
the  mission  church;  and  as  the  tallyho  makes  its  way 
through  the  narrow,  crooked  street  of  the  little  pueblo,  under 


33 


1, 


the  low-hanging  boughs  of  the  plumy  pepper  trees,  heads 
appear  at  windows  and  doorways. 

The  ]\Iission  San  Gabriel  was  founded  in  1771,  and  is  one 
of  the  chain  of  twenty-one  missions  extending  from  San 
Diego  to  San  Francisco. 

The  sight-seer  comes  rather  unexpectedly  upon  the  mis- 
sion building,  half-hidden  as  it  is  behind  pepper  trees.  The 
walls  and  the  arches  of  the  quadrangle  are  entirely  gone. 
Of  the  cloisters,  where  the  holy  men  did  penance  for  faults 
avowed,  there  is  not  a  trace,  nor  of  the  garden  where  the 
fountain  sang  and  flowers  bloomed. 

At  the  right  of  the  great  iron-clamped  door,  and  outside, 
is  a  flight  of  steep  stone  stairs  that  leads  to  a  railed  balcony 
above.  It  is  said  that  this  balcony  was  built  to  overlook  the 
bull-ring,  for  bull  fights  were  a  feature  of  the  pueblo  when 
it  was  the  headquarters  of  the  Spanish  Governors  of  Cali- 
fornia. Be  that  as  it  may,  for  some  reason  it  evidently 
was  a  place  much  frequented ;  the  steps  are  hollowed  by  the 
tread  of  many  feet  that  have  passed  up  and  down  the  steep 
stairway,  and  there  are  none  to  answer  the  question  that 
arises  to  the  lips  of  the  tourist:  "Whv  was  the  balconv 
built?" 

Centenarian  orange  trees  and  the  mother  vine  (vina 
madre),  planted  at  San  Gabriel  by  hands  folded  in  rest  these 
many  years,  still  bear  fruit.  And  who  shall  say  that  the 
spiritual  labors  of  the  padres  have  not  brought  forth  fruit, 
as  well  ?  When  the  Angelus  sounds  from  the  tower,  the 
people  whose  fathers  and  whose  fathers'  fathers  gathered 
here  to  worship,  leave  the  task  unfinished,  the  salutation 
half  spoken,  the  bread  unbroken  to  bow  at  the  altar  of  San 
Gabriel. 


^ 


34 


B0S}3prs  at  i>mt  (iabrtpl. 

Narrow   windows   pierce   the   walls. 
In  the  nave  no  sunlight  falls — 
Shadows  mock  the  tapers  pale; 
Ah,  but  love  is  quick  to  see — 
Shadows  may  not  hide  from  me 
Pancha,  at  the  altar  rail. 

Pancha,  with  an  air  demure, 

Tells    her   beads;  those   lips    would    lure 

Gabriel  himself  from  rest. 

Veiled  her  eyes,  but  well  she  knows 

I  have  found  the  crimson  rose, 

Worn  an  hour  upon  her  breast. 


35 


A  fCpgpttJi  nf  ^an  ^abmL 


HERE  the  Mexican  is,  there  also  are  traditions.  It  may- 
interest  the  tourist  to  know  that  one  of  the  bells 
swinging  high  in  the  massive  tower  of  San  Gabriel  mission 
has  a  legend  all  its  own. 

In  the  days  when  the  mission  was  young,  two  lovers  in 
sunny  Spain  were  parted  by  some  cruel  decree  of  fate.  He, 
taking  the  vows  of  brotherhood,  sailed  over  seas  to  New 
Spain,  and  later  joined  the  little  band  of  Franciscan  monks 
at  San  Gabriel. 

When,  in  the  land  of  his  birth,  the  bell  was  cast  for  the 
church  of  his  adoption,  his  true  love  flung  the  betrothal  ring 
into  the  mass  of  molten  metal.  And  that,  so  say  the  Mexi- 
can crones,  as  they  sit  on  their  doorsteps  in  the  twilight  and 
talk  over  the  days  that  were,  is  why  one  of  the  bells  always 
rang  clearer  and  sweeter  than  the  others. 

Poets  have  told  the  story  in  rhyme,  and  artists  have  trans- 
ferred to  canvas  the  quaint  bell-tower  of  San  Gabriel,  with 
the  matchless  blue  of  the  California  sky  for  a  background. 
But  one  need  be  neither  artist  nor  poet  to  feel  the  charm 
of  this  lovely  spot ;  and  to  see  it  is  to  tempt  one  to  forswear 
the  frivolities  of  the  world,  that  one  may  dream  on  forever 
in  the  shadow  of  San  Gabriel's  moss-grown  walls. 


36 


A  i^umm^r  Mk. 


...  ^?e^ 


BTRANGERS  to  our  fair  land,  who  have  never  sampled 
our  wonderful  climate,  will  scarcely  credit  the  state- 
ment that,  in  one  of  the  coast  islands  but  thirty  miles  dis- 
tant from  the  mainland,  the  climatic  conditions  are  such 
that  summer,  stormless,  perfect,  reigns  eternal. 

When  the  tourist  becomes  blase  and  indifferent  to  straw- 
berries and  green  peas  in  January,  when  the  view  of  snow- 
crowned  heights  as  seen  through  the  screen  of  roses,  "all 
a-growing  and  a-blowing"  over  his  window,  has  lost  its 
novelty,  there  is  Santa  Catalina,  the  Summer  Isle.  He  will 
find  that  "summer  isle"  is  no  misnomer  for  the  oasis  of 
green,  set  in  the  blue  Pacific. 

On  a  clear  day,  the  island  can  be  seen  from  the  mainland. 
It  has  the  appearance  of  being  a  spur  of  the  Sierra  Madre, 
or  "Mother  Mountain,"  separated  from  the  longer  range 
in  some  throe  of  nature.  The  trend  of  the  shore  range  and 
the  island  range  is  the  same. 

Catalina  is  not  a  large  island,  but  it  is  greatly  diversified. 
To  begin  with,  and  as  before  stated,  it  is  virtually  a  moun- 
tain range,  twenty-two  miles  long,  and  from  two  to  eight 
miles  in  width.  It  is  indented  by  bays  and  abounds  in 
bold  promontories.  Inland,  high  up  among  the  peaks,  lie 
cup-shaped  valleys,  gemmed  with  flowers.  The  range  is 
cleft  with  deep  canons,  one  of  them — Middle  Ranch 
canon — extending  from  shore  to  shore,  north  and  south. 
These  are  threaded  by  clear  brooks,  the  waters  of  which 
nourish  the  vines  and  ferns  that  hide  the  rocky,  precipi- 
tous walls  of  the  barrancas  as  with  a  mantle  of  green. 
Here  grows  the  clematis,  its  blossoming  garlands  hanging 
on  willow  and  cottonwood ;  here  the  wild  rose  "blushes  un- 
seen," and  many  another  flower  beside.  "It  is  a  true  land  of 
sweet  idleness,  where  all  nature  entertains." 

The  loftiest  peak  in  the  island  is  Mount  Orizaba,  2000 
feet  high.  The  ascent  can  be  made  by  burro-back,  and  fully 
repays  one  for  the  energy  expended  in  thwacking  the  burro. 
The  view  from  this  height  is  unsurpassed.  Landward, 
}tIounts  San  Antonio  and  San  Jacinto  cleave  the  blue ;  sea- 
ward, the  black  plume  from  the  funnel  of  a  steamer  out- 
ward bound,  meets  the  eye,  and  nearer  are  the  white  sails 


of   innumerable   fishing   smacks.      Below    lie   the   shadowy 
caiions,  the  plateaus  and  the  valleys  of  the  islet. 

Standing  thus  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  it  is  as 
if  one  were  in  a  world  apart,  a  peaceful,  idyllic  world,  where 
even  the  nearness  of  the  lunch  hour  and  one's  remoteness 
from  the  Avalon  table  d'hote  are  matters  of  secondary  im- 
portance. Now  and  again  a  gull  flies  up  from  the  rocks 
and  circles  overhead.  Were  it  not  for  the  booming  of  the 
waves  upon  the  shore,  or  the  occasional  bark  of  a  seal,  there 
would  be  no  sound  to  break  the  stillness. 

Catalina  is  the  sportsman's  paradise.  Here  the  wild 
mountain  goat  is  to  be  found,  feeding  in  the  upper  valleys ; 
and  in  the  waters  round  about  the  island  the  noblest  fish 
that  was  ever  lured  to  the  hook  of  fisherman  may  be 
caught  before  breakfast  any  fine  morning. 

To  say  the  fame  of  Catalina's  fishing  grounds  is  world 
wide,  is  no  exaggeration.  This  is  the  home  of  the  mighty 
jewfish,  a  monster  resembling  the  black  bass. 

'T  caught  my  first  jewfish  with  'Mexican  Joe,'  the  genial 
Catalinan  of  thirty  years  standing,"  says  Professor  Hol- 
der. "He  took  me  out  by  Piedracitas  beach  and  told  stories 
of  the  old  days,  while  I  waited  for  a  bite ;  and  when  it  came, 
well — it  was  I,  not  the  jewfish,  who  was  caught.  How  he 
pulled  the  boat  about,  attempting  to  fill  it  with'  his  mighty 
tail,  wrenched  our  arms  and  made  music  with  the  big  rush- 
ing line,  are  memories  which  anyone  can  revive  at  Catalina ; 
but  whether  our  catch  of  342  pounds  for  a  single  fish  can  be 
beaten  remains  to  be  seen." 

In  the  months  of  July  and  August  the  waters  are  alive 
with  sea  bass,  rock  bass,  yellowtail,  barracuda,  tuna  and 
mackerel. 

At  all  times  a  voyage  in  a  glass-bottomed  boat  will  afiford 
the  visitor  much  enjoyment.  Looking  down,  down,  fifty 
feet  or  more,  one  can  almost  count  the  pebbles  on  the  sandy 
floor  of  Avalon  bay,  so  clear  is  the  water.  Further  out  are 
great  forests  of  kelp,  among  the  branches  of  which  pretty 
gold  and  silver  fish  disport. 

With  each  incoming  tide  a  treasure-trove  is  deposited  upon 
the  sands — a  tangle  of  kelp,  in  the  rope-like  coils  of  which, 


39 


perchance,  a  fragile  nautilus  shell  has  come  safely  to  shore ; 
and  turning  the  wet  mass  over,  bits  of  algae  are  brought 
to  light. 

Algae  is  a  scientific  name  for  the  beautiful  flowers  of 
the  sea  that  the  waves  cull  from  the  ocean  meadows  and 
bring  to  the  shore,  that  we  may  see  and  wonder  at  the  mar- 
vels of  the  deep.  Tourists  call  them,  variously,  "sea  mosses," 
and  "sea  weeds,"  whereat  the  naturalists  raise  their  hands 
in  holy  horror.  But  the  tourist  goes  serenely  on  his  way, 
gathering  the  pretty,  many-tinted  "weeds,"  which  are  after- 
ward pressed  in  his  guide-book — and  from  which  no  power 
on  earth  can  remove  them. 

This  is  distinctly  a  grievance,  and  added  to  it  is  the  dis- 
appointment that  awaits  the  embryo  collector  when  he  finds 
that  the  curiously-formed,  brilliantly-colored  shells  listed  at 
the  curio  shops  as  "California  shells"  are  not  lying  around 
on  the  beach,  just  waiting  to  be  picked  up. 

He  may  rise  at  all  sorts  of  ghostly  hours  and  tramp  the 
shore,  hoping  to  get  ahead  of  those  who  collect  for  "the 
trade ;"  but  never  by  any  chance  does  he  find  that  for  which 
he  is  seeking.  There  are  shells,  to  be  sure,  but  they  are,  with 
the  exception  of  the  abalone,  pale,  uninteresting  things,  not 
worth  a  moment's  attention.  One  day  he  makes  a  discovery. 
These  same  pale,  uninteresting  shells  are  the  real  west  coast 
shells,  and  the  beautiful  shells  upon  the  shelves  of  the  curio 
dealer  have  their  habitat  in  the  tropical  waters  off  the  coast 
of  Lower  California. 

The  flora  of  the  island  engages  the  attention  of  botanists ; 
the  geologist  finds  much  to  interest  him ;  and  the  archeol- 
ogists  fairly  tread  on  each  others  heels  in  their  eagerness 
to  discover  what  manner  of  men  lived,  moved  and  had  their 
being  within  this  small  territory,  in  days  gone  by. 

Oftentime  the  diligent  explorer  is  rewarded  by  finding 
stone  mortars,  pestles  and  arrowheads ;  while  bits  of  wam- 
pum, shell  ornaments  and  even  the  bones  and  skulls  of  de- 


40 


parted  warriors  have  been  unearthed  at  the  Indian  burying- 
ground  at  the  Isthmus — a  narrow  neck  of  land  connecting 
the  main  body  of  the  island  with  the  smaller  portion. 

There  are  two  ways  of  getting  to  the  Isthmus — ^by  water, 
following  the  coast,  or  by  stage,  over  a  road  that  alternately 
scales  the  crest  of  the  Santa  Catalina  mountains  and  dips 
into  verdant  valleys.  Arrived  at  his  journey's  end,  the  trav- 
eler finds  a  flourishing  town  clustered  about  the  big  building 
which  was  once  government  barracks ;  and  there  he  may 
tarry,  making  the  return  trip  on  some  convenient  tomorrow. 

When  Cabrillo's  caravel  prowled  along  the  coast,  three 
centuries  and  more  ago,  the  explorer  found  Santa  Catalina 
inhabited  by  a  thriving  race  of  natives,  who  swarmed  upon 
the  shores  of  the  island,  and  gazed,  half  in  wonder,  half  in 
fear,  at  the  strange,  white-winged  "birds"  that  had  come 
from  over  the  water. 

Today  the  scene  is  changed.  Where  the  primitive  dwell- 
ings of  the  aborigines  once  clustered,  the  pretty  cottages  of 
the  summer  "resorters"  dot  the  hillsides.  The  Indian's 
canoe,  in  arrow  flight  through  the  blue  waters,  has  been 
superseded  by  the  steam  launch ;  and  were  Cabrillo  to  re- 
turn today,  he  would  be  greeted  by  a  crowd  of  summer 
girls  arrayed  in  a  manner  calculated  to  dazzle  the  eyes  and 
bewitch  the  senses  of  that  redoubtable  sailorman. 

For  Catalina — more's  the  pity! — has  become  a  fashion- 
able resort.  Time  was  when  the  town-wearied  pilgrim 
could  pitch  his  tent  on  the  beach,  or  in  the  depths  of  some 
canon,  and  thirty  miles  from  a  lookingglass,  could  com- 
mune with  nature  undisturbed  by  the  shabbiness  of  a  last 
year's  straw  hat,  or  the  out-at-elbows  condition  of  a  favorite 
coat.  But,  like  the  aborigine,  he  has  been  driven  away ;  or, 
if  one  bolder  than  the  rest  stays  to  face  the  battery  of  bright 
eyes,  he  straightway  sends  to  Los  Angeles  for  his  "claw- 
hammer," and  joins  the  giddy  whirl. 

I  caught  a  jewfish  five  feet  long, 

Out  by  the  wharf  today; 
I  caught  a  jewfish  five  feet  long — 
But  the  biggest  one  got  away. 

41 


Enrobed  in  kingly  purple  thou  dost  stand 

A  snow-crowned  Monarch, — at  thy  feet  the  land 

Stretches  afar  to  meet  the  slumberous  sea; 

About  thy  whitened  summits,  flying  free, 

Are  clouds  that  'gainst  the  blue  of  heaven  displayed, 

Like  pennants  float.     The  mist-enwreathed  cascade 

Leaps  from  thy  heights  its  pure  drops  scattering  wide, 

And  falling,  mingles  with  the  streams  that  glide 

Through  fruited  groves  and  vineyards,  far  below; 

No  whiter  is  thine  own,  eternal  snow 

Than  the  sweet,  drifted  orange-bloom  that  gleams 

Upon  the  trees,  fed  by  those  mountain  streams. 

That  granite  breast  of  thine  withstands  the  shocks 

Of  earthquakes,  yet  among  thy  piled  rocks 

Are  tender  flowers,  that  lend  a  blooming  grace 

To  the  stern  grandeur  of  thy  rugged  face. 


42 


A  Srolbg  ®rip  tn  Qllnubknb 


1 


ALIFORNIA  is  a  country  of  limitless  possibilities. 
The  tourist  should  bear  this  in  mind  when  he  is  told 
that,  traveling,  by  trolley,  one  passes  from  the  rose  gar- 
dens, orange  groves  and  palm-shaded  drives  of  Pasadena 
to  snow-shrouded  heights  in  just  forty  minutes. 

The  hitherto  unheard-of  idea  of  scaling  the  precipitous 
side  of  a  mountain  by  trolley  was  first  conceived  in  the 
master  mind  of  Professor  T.  S.  C.  Lowe;  and  the  Incline 
Railway  to  Mount  Lowe  is  the  result. 

This  unique  journey  to  Cloudland — a  journey  that  is 
not  a  balloon  ascension,  but  something  akin  to  it — begins  at 
Rubio  caiion.  As  the  traveler  stands  on  the  platform  in 
front  of  Rubio  pavilion,  watching  the  descent  of  the  white 
chariot  that  is  to  bear  him  skyward,  he  is  liable  to  be  seized 
with  apprehensions  lest  the  car  leave  the  perpendicular 
track  and  fly  off  into  space.  But  the  conductor  assures 
the  passengers  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  accident — that 
the  endless  cable  of  the  finest  steel  is  tested  to  stand  a 
strain  of  one  hundred  tons,  and  that  it  is  no  trick  at  all  to 
keep  a  five-ton  car  on  the  track.  After  which  the  traveler 
breathes  freely,  and  enjoys  the  view. 

The  valley  unrolls  like  a  map  as  the  car  scales  the  lessei 
heights.  Then  Granite  gorge,  with  its  perpendicular  walls, 
shuts  out  the  grand  panorama  of  hills,  valley  and  ocean. 

At  Echo  mountain  the  traveler  changes  cars.  Among 
the  many  notable  things  to  be  seen  upon  this  mountain  top 
are  the  fine  observatory,  erected  by  private  means,  and 
the  searchlight,  the  largest  in  the  world,  which  was  exhib' 
ited  at  the  Columbian  Exposition  in  1893. 

From  the  veranda  of  the  chalet  one  has  a  view  that  can- 
not be  surpassed  in  beauty — mountains  to  the  right,  moun- 
tains to  the  left,  and  far  below,  Pasadena,  bowered  in  trop- 
ical bloom,  and  Los  Angeles,  "the  City  of  the  Angels." 
Beyond,  there  is  the  shimmering  sea,  with  the  peaks  of  isl- 
ands strung  like  emeralds  upon  the  horizon. 

If  the  sun  and  the  warm  south  wind  combine  to  work 
magic,  the  snow  rapidly  disappears,  and  only  in  shaded 
spots  will  there  be  a  trace  of  the  storm  of  yesterday  remain- 
ing.    Thus  a  tourist  was  heard   to   remark :     "California 


44 


may  be  able  to  raise  corpulent  oranges  and  long-legged 
ostriches  by  the  acre,  but  if  this  is  a  sample  of  a  Califor- 
nia snow  storm,  I  must  say  I've  seen  it  done  better  back 
East." 

On  the  Alpine  division  the  car  mounts  up  and  up  by  a 
tortuous  track  that  doubles  and  twists  on  itself,  now  front- 
ing a  purple  peak,  towering  across  some  awful  chasm,  again 
looking  out  upon  a  panoramic  view  that  is  only  bounded  by 
the  horizon ;  at  one  moment  stretching  through  a  forest  of 
pine,  at  another  following  the  trend  of  a  canon  along  a  shelf 
so  narrow  that  one  involuntarily  leans  landward  in  rounding 
a  curve;  until,  5000  feet  above  sea  level,  the  end  of  the 
journey  is  reached,  and  Ye  Alpine  Tavern  swings  wide  its 
hospitable  door. 

Few  are  the  pilgrims  to  California  who  have  not  rev- 
eled in  the  cheerful  warmth  of  the  fire,  burning  in  the  huge 
fireplace  in  the  hall  of  Alpine  Tavern — as  the  hundreds 
of  names  upon  the  register  attest.  It  is  a  favorite  resort 
in  winter,  no  less  than  in  summer.  If  the  branches  that 
brush  the  window  pane  are  snow-laden,  well  the  traveler 
knows  that  Summer  is  not  far  away — that  she  sits  in  the 
valley,  weaving  green  garlands  through  all  the  year. 

Having  taken  a  trolley  trip  to  Cloudland,  the  traveler, 
if  he  wishes  to  experience  a  genuine  thrill,  will  charter  a 
burro  and  strike  the  "old  trail"  to  Mount  Wilson. 

The  first  stage  of  the  journey  is  by  rail  to  Santa  Anita, 
and  thence,  by  'bus,  to  the  foot  of  the  trail,  where  the  burros 
are  hired. 

This  little  animal,  somewhat  larger  than  a  sheep,  is  very 
sure-footed,  and  possesses  remarkable  "staying"  qualities. 
He  has  his  nerve  with  him  all  the  time,  and  while  crawling 
along  the  trail, — a  mere  shelf  of  rock,  hemmed  in  by  pre- 
cipitous walls  on  one  side,  and  sloping  to  the  brink  of  a 
caiion  a  thousand  feet  in  depth,  on  the  other, — he  will  oc- 
casionally saunter  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  path,  reach  over, 
and  snatch  a  plumy  tuft  of  fern  that  waves  above  the  abyss. 


45 


altp  }JI|otr»grapItpr  in  Olaltftintta. 


SURELY  there  never  was  a  country  so  completely  en- 
slaving the  affections  at  the  outset  as  California.  It 
is  with  the  tourist  a  case  of  "love  at  first  sight,"  and  small 
wonder.  Coming  upon  it  after  miles  of  travel  over  arid 
wastes,  the  vine-clad  slopes,  the  w^ondrous  groves  and  the 
tropical  gardens  are  a  revelation. 

Or,  if  the  tourist  has  elected  to  brave  the  discomforts  of 
a  possible  "tie-up"  in  some  forty-foot  snow  drift  the  other 
side  of  the  Rockies,  he  passes  from  Winterland  into  Sum- 
merland  in  a  state  of  amaze  that  such  things  can  be.  He 
wanders  about  the  streets  of  Los  Angeles  for  days  afterward 
like  a  man  under  a  spell,  gazing  at  the  snow-capped  Sierras, 
against  which  tall  palms  are  silhouetted ;  looking  the  as- 
tonishment he  would  not  for  worlds  express  at  sight  of  a 
hedge  of  calla  lilies,  or  a  prize  specimen  of  Washington 
Navel  orange,  and  striving  to  appear  as  if  strawberries  in 
December  were  ever\'^day  fare,  back  where  he  came  from. 

Viewed  from  an  artistic  standpoint,  California  is  the  de- 
light and  the  despair  of  the  photographer.  At  every  turn 
there  are  picturesque  bits — here  a  tumble-down  adobe  hut, 
its  broken  walls  mantled  in  blossoming  vines  that  run  riot 
in  tropical  luxuriance ;  there  a  broad  stretch  of  beach,  swept 
by  foaming  breakers  that  change  from  green  to  amber,  from 
amber  to  snowy  white ;  again,  a  shadow-haunted  canon, 
among  whose  piled  rocks  the  echoes  play  at  hide-and-seek. 

Now  and  then  you  discover  traces  of  early  California  days 
— a  ruined  mission,  set  amidst  gnarled  olive  trees  that  were 
planted  by  the  padres  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Ah,  California  is  indeed  the  despair  of  the  photographer ! 
The  wave- washed  beach,  the  sunny  garden,  the  blossom- 
laden  orange  trees,  the  picturesque  ruin  may  be  shut  into 
that  little  black  box  in  an  instant ;  but  w^ho  can  photograph 
the  ever-changing  tints  of  the  wave,  the  musical  plash  of  the 
waters  in  the  fountain,  the  rare  perfume  of  the  orange  blos- 
soms, the  flash  of  sunlight  upon  the  tiled  roof  of  the  old  mis- 
sion? 


46 


\}trt  tl|^  ^^np^jg  llnnms. 


DT  has  been  said  that  April  is  the  Junetime  of  CaUfornia. 
Later  the  summer  sunshine  parches  the  verdure,  turn- 


ing the  green  of  the  mesa  to  brown ;  but  summer  is  yet  afar, 
and  there  is  nothing  of  the  "sere  and  yellow"  in  the  flower- 
spangled  robe  that  April  wears. 

On  the  Atlantic  coast  the  spring  is  ushered  in  with  yel- 
low— the  gold  of  the  dandelion,  whose  round,  unwinking  eye 
stares  from  every  sunny  bank.  But  the  yellow  of  the  dande- 
lion pales  beside  the  deep,  orange-gold  of  the  Eschscholtzia, 
California's  own  flower. 

If  the  tourist  would  see  where  they  grow,  acres  and  acres 
of  'em,  let  him  take  the  Pasadena  car  on  Fourth  street,  be- 
tween Spring  and  Broadway,  and  hie  him  Altadena-ward. 

The  city  left  behind,  one  journeys  toward  the  foothills 
that  roll  in  green  billows  to  the  mountains.  All  about  is 
level  country,  dotted  with  white  ranch  houses  that  are  half 
hidden  from  view  by  pink-flowered  apricot  trees  and  gray- 
green  olive  groves. 

The  sky  has  been  lowering — the  "rainy  season"  is  not  yet 
over;  but  as  the  mesa  is  gained,  lo,  a  miracle  is  wrought! 
The  sun  flashes  out  from  behind  the  clouds,  burning  in  the 
blue  like  a  great  jewel.  Where  the  vanguard  of  the  poppies 
stand,  brandishing  wee,  green  spears,  a  million,  uniformed 
in  the  sun's  own  bright  livery,  seem  to  spring  from  earth. 

The  tourist  leaves  the  car  and  strikes  off  across  the  fields, 
routing  meadow  larks  from  their  coverts  and  causing  them 
to  fly  upward  with  tuneful  cries.  As  the  breeze,  rippling 
over  the  mesa,  bends  and  sways  the  flowers  upon  their  pliant 
stalks,  it  seems  as  if  one  were  wading  in  a  shining  flame- 
colored  sea. 

Long  before  el  Americano  came  to  the  land  "where  it  is 
always  afternoon,"  the  Mexican  fancifully  termed  the  yellow 
flower  "cup  of  gold." 

Ere  the  cultivation  of  lands  rooted  out  the  wild  growths, 
the  poppy  spread  a  veritable  Cloth  of  Gold  over  all  the  foot- 
hills and'  headlands  of  California.  Mariners,  at  the  close 
of  a  long  ocean  voyage,  hailed  the  sight  of  those  flower- 
decked  slopes  with  joy.  It  was  their  "welcome  home ;" 
and  sometimes,  on  a  clear  day,  the  bright  beacon  could  be 
seen  while  yet  the  ship  was  far  from  shore. 

48 


The  "cup  of  gold"  was  rediscovered  by  a  man  with  an 
unpronounceable  name,  and  was  subsequently  dubbed,  "Es- 
chscholtzia,"  in  his  honor;  but  to  the  Mexican  it  is  still 
"Copa  de  Oro,"  and  to  the  rest  of  us,  "the  California  poppy." 

When  the  day  is  dark,  then  these  pretty  sun-worshipers 
hide  their  faces ;  and  every  evening  they  roll  their  satin 
petals,  one  over  the  other,  into  a  tight  little  roll,  nor  do  they 
unclose  until  His  Majesty  smiles  down  upon  them. 


The  sun  has  Midas-touched  the  earth.    Behold ' 
The  hills,  but  yesterday  so  brown  and  bare. 
Transformed  as  if  by  magic.    Everywhere 
The  land's  ashine  with  red,  red  poppy-gold. 


49 


At  QlapiBtrann. 


■rwLTHOUGH  "Italy  has  its  ruins,  its  Coliseum  and  its 
^^  Forum,  and  Spain  has  its  slumbering  Alhambra 
whose  fountains  have  long  ceased  to  flow,"  we  have  San 
Juan  Capistrano. 

The  tourist,  if  he  so  desires,  may  stop  en  route  to  San 
Diego  and  pay  his  respects  to  this  century-old  ruin;  or  he 
may  take  an  early  train  from  Los  Angeles  and  run  down  to 
Capistrano,  returning  by  a  later  train,  with  an  hour  or  two 
to  spare. 

The  huge  outline,  all  that  remains  of  the  greater  part  of 
the  mission,  serves  to  show  the  scale  upon  which  the  splendid 
fane  was  planned.  The  nave  of  the  church,  built  in  the  form 
of  a  cross,  is  roofless.  The  court  is  weed-grown,  and  the 
arches  that  supported  the  roof  of  the  porch, extending  around 
the  four  sides  of  the  court,  are  broken  in  places,  and  in  others 
gone  entirely. 

Capistrano  was  fifth  in  the  list  of  missions  founded.  It 
was  so  damaged  by  the  earthquake  of  1812,  which  over- 
threw the  walls  of  the  chapel,  killing  many  worshipers,  that 
it  was  necessary  to  rebuild  the  edifice. 

That  the  main  walls  should  be  standing  today,  after  more 
than  a  hundred  years  of  exposure  to  the  wind  and  weather, 
proves  that  the  founders  builded  well. 

In  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  court  stands  a  wooden  bench ; 
and  sitting  there,  one  can  look  down  the  narrow  valley, 
across  the  sand  dunes,  to  the  sea.  One  could  fancy  it  were 
"always  afternoon"  in  this  peaceful  spot.  Almost  one  be- 
lieves that  the  flight  of  time  is  stayed,  and  then  is  heard  the 
faint  rumble  of  the  approaching  train,  city  bound. 

The  picture  that  memory  conjures  is  full  of  charm ;  one 
has  but  close  the  eyes  and  ever  after  remember  Capistrano 
asleep  upon  its  brown  knoll,  the  domeless  tower  and  pillared 
arches  etched  against  a  sky  "blue  as  the  lid  of  Italy." 


52 


A  monkish  owl  that  haunts  the  crannied  wall, 
Disturbs  the  silence  with  its  plaintive  call ; 
Within  the  nave  and  dusty  corridor, 
Where  tread  of  priestly  feet  is  heard  no  more, 
The  black  bats  through  the  gathering  shadows  slip 
Like  wind-blown  vapor  from  a  censer's  lip, 
Pale  mists  above  the  distant  sand  dunes  rise. 
Blotting  the  sunset  crimson  from  the  skies. 


S3 


All  Abng  Bl\tin. 


DT  IS  six  o'clock  of  a  May  morning,  but  it  might  be  De- 
cember, for  aught  there  is  of  Hght  or  brightness  in  the 
lowering  sky.  Perhaps  there  is  blue  behind  the  gray ;  some- 
where, it  may  be,  the  birds  are  singing  and  flowers  are 
blooming.  But  here  there  is  only  a  strip  of  sodden  beach, 
along  which  the  waves  leap  and  wrestle ;  a  frowning  clifiE- 
line,  like  the  grim  battlements  of  a  feudal  castle,  and  a  fog- 
curtain  that  shuts  out  the  rest  of  the  world. 

The  sea  gulls  circle  overhead,  uttering  mournful  cries. 
The  waves  break  upon  the  shore  with  a  boom !  boom !  that 
is  like  the  crash  of  artillery.  Surely,  the  foot  of  man  never 
tracked  these  solitudes.  There  has  been  nothing  here  since 
the  beginning  of  time  but  the  ocean,  the  sand  dunes  and  the 
screaming  gulls. 

A  dark  figure  advances  out  of  the  mist,  and  another  and 
another — and  still  they  come.  Is  this  a  solemn  procession 
of  disembodied  spirits  ?  No,  it  is  a  party  of  fishermen,  drag- 
ging their  nets  over  the  wet  sand. 

There  is  a  sudden  lifting  of  the  fog-curtain,  and  in  shreds 
and  patches  it  is  borne  away  upon  the  breeze.  Where  now 
are  the  gray  skies  of  an  hour  ago?  Blue,  dazzingly  blue,  is 
the  dome  overhead ;  and  bluer  still  the  ocean  waves  that  dip 
and  courtesy  to  the  white  sails  that  are  scudding  before  the 
wind. 

Santa  Monica  is  to  Los  Angeles  what  Coney  island  is  to 
New  York,  The  summer  crowd  that  throngs  the  beach, 
basking  on  the  white  sands,  sweethearting  in  the  shade  of 
sun  umbrellas  and  frolicing  in  the  breakers  is  cosmopolitian 
in  every  sense  of  the  word.  The  electric  cars,  leaving  Los 
Angeles  half-hourly,  bring  their  quota  of  visitors  for  the 
day  or  longer — the  tourist,  who,  like  the  poor,  we  have  al- 
ways with  us;  the  pale  student,  seeking  the  rest  and  rec- 
reation his  tired  brain  and  body  demand ;  the  sedate  matron 
and  her  numerous  progeny;  the  shop  girl,  who  is  enjoying 
her  infrequent  holiday  to  the  uttermost ;  the  pretty  girl,  bent 
on  wholesale  conquest,  and  the  man-about-town  who  has 
followed  her  thither. 

The  babies  roll  in  the  sand ;  the  student  pokes  enthusiast- 
ically among  the  masses  of  kelp  that  the  in-rolling  waves 


56 


have  laid  at  his  feet;  the  pretty  girl  takes  a  dip  in  the  suri  . 
under  the  observant  eyes  of  the  chaperon  and  the  afore- i^ 
said  man-about-town,  and  everybody  is  supremely,  hilari-irj; 
ously  and  undisguisedly  happy. 

What  can  compare  with  a  plunge  in  the  hurrying,  foam- 
capped  breakers  ?  It  is  diverting  merely  to  lie  on  the  sands, 
watching  the  wheeling  gulls,  the  snowy  sail,  outward  bound,  ^  g  vc 
the  promenaders,  strolling  along  the  beach.  But  to  be  tossed  -, 
on  the  crest  of  the  waves  is  something  more — it  is  exhila- 
rating; and  when  the  novice  learns  to  ride  the  big,  green 
rollers,  he  feels  that  the  world  is  his  oyster. 

It  is  a  pleasant  walk  down  the  beach  to  Santa  Monica 
canon,  where  spreading  oaks  cast  their  shade  upon  the 
ground  and  a  clear  brook  tinkles  over  the  pebbles.  This  is 
a  favorite  spot  for  campers,  and  from  April  until  November 
their  white  tents  dot  the  slopes. 

Arch  rock,  not  far  away,  is  a  much-visited  point.  The 
great  cliffs  that  form  the  shore-line  are  honeycombed  by 
the  action  of  the  waves,  and  in  little  coves  behind  miniature 
reefs  shells  and  algae  may  be  found. 

The  town  of  Santa  Monica  crowns  the  cliff,  high  above 
the  beach.  The  streets  are  lined  with  straggling,  wind- 
blown eucalypti,  and  the  summer  cottages  are  set  in  a  wil- 
derness of  odorous  bloom. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  Santa  Monica  otherwise  than  as 
gay  with  "resorters."  But  there  comes  a  time  when  the  fog, 
rolling  in  from  the  sea,  quenches  the  light  of  the  sun  for 
days  together;  when  the  wind  shakes  the  eucalypti  until 
they  writhe,  and  the  rains  beat  the  fragrant  blossoms  low. 
Then  the  fickle  summer  visitors  turn  their  backs  on  the  re- 
sort, and  Santa  Monica  sees  them  no  more  until  another 
summer. 

For  those  who  find  their  pleasures  along  shore,  there  is 
winter  bathing  at  Terminal  island,  or  summer  fishing  at 
Santa  Catalina;  vachting  at  Brighton,  or  a  "tent  on  the 
beach"  at  Long  Beach.  The  last-named  place  is  especially 
worth  a  visit  in  July  and  August,  when  the  Chautauqua 
Assemblv  of  Southern  California  is  in  session. 


The  scenery  along  the  coast  would  inspire  an  artist  to 
win  fame  and  fortune.  Over  there  in  the  blue  distance  the 
peaks  of  Catalina  rise  from  the  waters,  and  nearer,  across 
the  bend  of  the  bay,  looms  the  lighthouse  of  Point  Firmin. 

Redondo  has  not  a  few  devotees,  who  claim  that  the  beach 
has  no  rival.  This  is  the  place  where  all  the  stunning  bath- 
ing suits  do  congregate.  If  a  man  wishes  to  preserve  his 
heart  intact,  let  him  avoid  Redondo.  In  the  spacious  ball- 
room of  the  vast  hotel  many  a  poor  fellow  has  received  his 
death  wound,  while  the  music  played  on  and  on,  the  lights 
shone  on  fair  faces  and  brave  attire,  and  dancing  feet  kept 
time  to  happy  heart-beats. 

Above  all,  should  the  masculine  avoid  a  moonlight  stroll 
on  the  beach !  What  is  there  that  compares  with  a  moon- 
light night  at  Redondo?  The  sunset  fires  leave  a  tender, 
lingering  glow  in  the  heavens,  long  after  the  stars  are  out; 
and  as  the  moon,  swimming  in  bluest  ether,  lights  up  the 
scene,  the  long  lines  of  crawling  foam,  and  even  the  sands 
of  the  seashore  seem  to  turn  to  molten  silver.  Add  to  the 
glamour  of  the  moonlight  the  witchery  of  a  pair  of  eyes — 
and  "that  way  madness  lies." 

Let  not  the  tourist  say  that  he  has  seen  California  until 
he  has  visited  San  Diego  and  Coronado.  San  Diego  bay 
was  the  first  port  made  by  Cabrillo  when  he  sailed  up  the 
coast  in  1542.  This  bay,  which  is  thirteen  miles  long,  with 
six  square  miles  of  available  anchorage,  is  second  in  im- 
portance to  that  of  San  Francisco. 

On  the  heights  above,  sits  the  handsome  little  city  of  San 
Diego,  with  fifteen  hotels,  a  fine  theater,  twenty-three 
churches  and  a  city  park  reservation  of  1400  acres. 

San  Diego  is  but  a  few  miles  distant  from  Old  Mexico, 
and  one  of  the  most  interesting  trips  which  the  tourist  can 
take  is  a  jaunt  to  Tia  Juana,  just  over  the  border. 

Apart  from  its  other  attractions,  San  Diego  is  a  haven  for 
invalids,  who  find  in  the  balmy  climate  a  cure  for  half  the 
ills  to  which  flesh  is  heir. 

And  there  is  Coronado.  Such  a  beach ! — a  glistening 
stretch  of  sand,  firm  as  asphalt  beneath  the  feet.  Wise  in- 
deed was  the  man  who  first  saw  the  possibilities  of  the  pen- 
insula upon  which  the  hotel  is  built.    The  broad,  level  beach, 

58 


extending  in  a  graceful  curve  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  is 
equally  adapted  to  bathing  or  driving;  the  placid  bay  af- 
fords all  the  pleasures  of  boating  without  its  dangers,  and 
the  peninsula  itself,  laid  out  in  beautiful  pleasure  grounds, 
is  as  attractive  as  nature  and  expert  landscape  gardeners 
can  make  it. 

Would  you  forget  that  you  have  a  care  ?  "Loose  the  flow- 
ing sail,"  and  drift  seaward  with  the  tide.  The  bright-hued 
pennant  on  the  mast  flaps  idly  in  the  soft  air;  but  as  your 
boat  clears  the  protecting  point  of  land  the  full  force  of  the 
ocean  breeze  is  felt,  and  all  the  little  wavelets  put  their 
white-caps  on.  For  an  instant  the  craft  poises  on  the  crest 
of  a  big  wave,  like  a  bird  ready  for  flight ;  then  it  leaps  to 
meet  the  next  wave.  Oh,  it  is  glorious,  the  swift  rush 
through  the  shining  water! 

There  is  only  one  drawback  to  Coronado.  It  is  the  fa- 
vorite resort  of  the  newly-wedded.  They  sentimentalize  by 
the  sea,  lurk  in  the  shrubberies  and  haunt  the  caves  of  La 
Jolla  at  all  hours.  For  them  are  reserved  the  best  seats  at 
table,  and  the  polite  attentions  of  the  head  waiter.  But  what 
world-weary  campaigner  would  begrudge  them  the  best  of 
everything?    Not  1,  forsooth,  nor  you. 

As  the  summer  advances,  and  the  warm  days  invite  a  so- 
journ at  the  beach,  the  question  arises:  "Where  shall  we 
go?"  There  are  Santa  Monica,  Long  Beach,  Brighton 
Beach,  Terminal  and  Santa  Catalina,  Redondo  and  Corona- 
do,  each  and  every  one  having  a  charm  all  its  own.  One 
has  but  to  choose;  and  yet,  with  memories  of  happy  days 
passed  all  along  shore,  how  is  one  to  choose? 


59 


The  Summer  Girl  has  her  innings  all  the  year  around, 
in  California. 

Now  there  are  Summer  Girls — and  Summer  Girls. 
There  is  the  girl  with  a  complexion,  who  is  never  to  be  found 
very  far  from  the  hotel  veranda;  her  gay  parasol  blooms 
like  some  tropic  flower  all  the  way  from  the  Sierras  to  the 
sea. 

But  the  all-around  Summer  Girl  is  an  athlete.  She  thinks 
nothing  of  taking  a  twenty-mile  spin  on  her  bicycle  before 
lunch,  although  she  is  due  at  a  tennis  bout  in  the  afternoon 
and  a  ball  in  the  evening. 

Not  content  with  being  the  champion  of  the  court,  she 
must  needs  be  belle  of  the  ball !  She  is  a  good  dancer,  of 
course,  as  her  well-filled  card  attests ;  but  that,  methinks, 
is  not  the  secret  of  her  popularity.  It  is  her  freedom  from 
affectation,  her  straightforwardness,  in  short,  her  good- 
fellowship  that  wins  the  masculines,  to  whom  a  healthy, 
hearty,  rational  young  woman  who  cares  not  for  "small 
talk"  or  insipid  compliments  is  as  welcome  as  flowers  in 
spring. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  leaves  the  halls  of 
revelry  with  a  regretful  sigh.  But  she  "really  must  get 
forty  winks"  before  she  goes  out  to  the  golf  links !  The 
splendid,  inexhaustible  vitality  that  is  hers  makes  such  things 
possible  to  the  California  girl.  She  is  a  living  benediction 
on  the  athletic  fad.     Mav  her  tribe  increase. 


60 


The  beach  is  really  the  place  to  look  for  the  Summer  Girl. 
She  is  as  numerous  as  the  sands  thereof,  and  from  early 
morn  until  dewy  eve  disports  along  shore.  There  is  the 
girl  with  the  stunning  yachting  suit,  who  becomes  seasick 
the  moment  the  boat  strikes  a  "whitecap,"  and  the  girl  with 
no  nonsense  about  her,  who  manages  a  craft  like  an  able  sea- 
man ;  the  girl  who  flounders  about  in  the  breakers  with  more 
zest  than  grace,  and  the  girl  wBo  "takes  to  the  water  like  a 
duck ;"  the  girl  who  looks  like  a  guy  in  a  bathing  suit — and 
knows  it — and  who  spends  her  time  exploring  adjacent 
canons  with  a  properly  appreciative  person  of  the  opposite 
sex,  and  the  girl  who  does  not  look  like  a  guy  in  a  bathing 
suit — and  knows  it. 

The  girl  who  knows  how  will  be  recognized  at  a  glance. 
She  marches  down  to  the  water,  "careless  of  a  thousand  eyes 
and  ten  thousand  comments,"  and  confidently  awaits  the  in- 
coming wave.  There  is  a  flash  of  white  arms,  a  straight, 
swift  plunge,  and  where  she  was  there  she  is  not.  But  look ! 
Beyond  the  ropes  a  cap  bobs  up  and  down,  a  red  speck  upon 
the  waters.     She  is  headed  for  the  buoy,  a  half  mile  out. 

For  those  interested  in  golf,  there  are  links  at  Los  An- 
geles, Coronado,  Santa  Catalina,  Riverside,  Redlands,  Re- 
dondo,  Santa  Monica,  Pasadena  and  Santa  Barbara — and 
three  hundred  and  sixtv  davs  of  summer  in  the  year. 


61 


iFrnm  Bans  Ang^bs  tn  ^anta  larbura. 


EKAl'TIFri,  Santa  Barbara  is  not  to  be  passed  by;  in- 
i\cc{\,  it  is  tin-  shrine  to  which  all  California  tourists 

make  pilgrimage. 

This  (juaint  little  city,  half  Spanish,  half  American,  lay 
iloziiig  on  the  sunny  slope  between  the  mountains  and  the 
sea  almost  a  century,  ere  the  scream  of  the  locomotive's 
whistle  cduH'il  through  her  orange  groves.  Even  now  it 
is  provincial  in  a  way,  although  el  Americano  and  his  gold 
have  wrought  great  changes  here,  and  the  humble  adobe 
dwellings  of  olden  time  have  given  place  to  pretentious  man- 
sions that  lack  the  picturesqueness  (and  inconveniences)  of 
the  former. 

Santa  Barbara's  leisure  class  is  composed  largely  of 
wealthy  Easterners,  who  seek  the  shores  of  the  Sunset  Sea 
before  the  first  snowflake  falls,  and  there  remain  until  sum- 
mer's green  girdle  again  encircles  the  earth.  Their  influ- 
ence and  their  wealth  have  built  up  the  place  from  the  pu- 
eblo of  fifty  years  ago,  to  the  city  we  see  today — a  city  with 
many  modern  conveniences,  including  (the  incongruity  of 
it!)  electric  cars  to  the  very  doors  of  the  old  mission. 

Santa  Barbara  is  now  on  the  direct  line  to  the  Northern 
metropolis.  San  Francisco.  That  is  but  one  bid  of  this  all- 
the-year-round  resort  for  popular  favor.  No  finer  hotels 
will  be  found  in  all  California  than  those  (present  and  pro- 
spective) of  Santa  Barbara.  Added  to  these  advantages, 
a  climate  equal  to  that  of  the  celebrated  resorts  on  the  Med- 
iterranean Riviera,  and  Santa  Barbara  is  a  name  to  conjure 
with. 

The  monastery,  the  religious  capitol  of  the  Franciscan 
order  and  the  best  preserved  of  the  California  missions, 
crowns  the  hill  at  the  rear  of  the  city.  Against  the  dark 
background  of  mountains,  the  long"  colonnade  and  the 
square.  Roman  towers  gleam  white  as  Carrara  marble. 

In  the  walled  garden  at  the  rear  of  the  mission,  monks  in 
brown  habits  pace  meditatively ;  but,  save  on  two  occasions, 
when  Princess  Louise  and  the  wife  of  General  Harrison 
were  visiting  Santa  Barbara,  the  flaming  sword  of  Custom 
has  barred  the  gate  of  the  garden  to  womankind  since  time 
immemorial.  Not  for  them  are  the  lilies  that  swing  censers 
of  perfume  beside  the  winding  walks,  the  roses  that  bloom 

64 


upon  the  garden  wall,  the  fruits  that  ripen  in  the  ge- 
nial sunshine.  No  hands  save  the  padres'  prune  the 
tender  vines  and  gather  the  fruits,  and  the  roses  bud.  blos- 
som and  fall,  unheeded. 

The  mountain  drive  which  leads  the  traveler  through  El 
Monticito  the  beautiful,  the  ocean  boulevard,  palm-bor- 
dered and  smooth  as  a  city  street,  the  sea-bathing,  the  boat- 
ing— all  contribute  to  the  pleasure  of  the  sojourner  in  Santa 
Barbara. 

En  route  to  the  city-by-the-sea,  one  may  stop  at  San  Fer- 
nando for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  mission  of  San  Fer- 
nando, standing  behind  its  sentinel  palms,  a  mile  away. 

To  the  shame  of  California,  be  it  said,  the  grand  old  mis- 
sion of  San  Fernando,  grand  even  in  decay,  was  used  not  so 
many  years  ago  as  headquarters  for  ranch-hands.  In  one 
of  the  large  rooms  meals  were  cooked;  in  another,  long 
tables  of  rough  boards  were  placed  on  trestles;  and  in  a 
third  rude  bunks. had  been  put  up.  The  building  was  open 
to  all  comers,  including  strayed  stock ;  and,  at  the  time  of  the 
writer's  visit,  a  motherly  pig  and  a  dozen  piglets  together 
with  a  large  flock  of  hens,  ranged  the  corridor. 

The  roof  had  fallen  in  near  the  middle  of  the  building, 
which,  viewed  from  the  rear,  seemed  on  the  point  of  break- 
ing in  two.  Since  that  time  the  Landmarks'  Club  has 
taken  the  matter  in  hand,  to  the  extent  of  restoring  the  roof 
and  otherwise  strengthening  the  building. 

Another  point  of  interest  on  the  line,  midway  between 
lyos  Angeles  and  Santa  Barbara,  is  Camulos,  the  one-time 
home  of  "Ramona,"  the  heroine  of  Helen  Hunt  Jackson's 
famous  novel  of  that  name. 

Journeying  thence  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  when  the 
rains  have  turned  the  brown  of  the  mesas  to  green,  the  tour- 
ist sees  at  its  best  one  of  the  most  beautiful  parts  of  Cali- 
fornia. Here  in  the  fertile  Santa  Clara  valley  is  the  house, 
which,  as  the  story  tells,  "was  of  adobe,  low,  with  a  wide 
veranda  on  three  sides  of  the  inner  court." 

This  house,  like  all  Spanish  ranch-houses  of  that  early 
day,  was  built  to  keep  out  the  summer  heat  and  the  winter 
chill,  for,  although  there  is  seldom  a  frost  to  blast  the  ten- 

65 


derest  gtirdcn  flower,  the  breezes  are  not  always  balmy  in 
Southern  California.  The  walls  are  three  feet  in  thickness; 
and  over  the  adobe  brick,  inside  and  out,  is  laid  a  creamy- 
white  plaster.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  more  charming  back- 
ground for  the  vines  that  wreath  the  pillars  of  the  porch, 
curtain  the  narrow  windows  and  clamber  to  the  roof. 

One  cannot  fail  to  recognize  the  upper  veranda,  or  bal- 
cony, upon  which  opened  the  room  allotted  to  gentle  Father 
Silviederra  during  his  infrequent  visits  to  the  home  of  Sefiora 
Moreno.  Here,  too,  is  the  long  grape  arbor,  leading  to 
the  brook ;  and  here  the  willow-shaded  pool,  where  Ramona 
washed  the  torn  altar  cloth.  With  the  glory  of  the  sun- 
light resting  like  a  benediction  upon  the  vale,  almost  would 
one  imagine  the  scene  unchanged. 

Away  to  the  south  lie  miles  and  miles  of  yellow  mustard 
— who  has  not  heard  of  the  wild  mustard  of  California? — 
that  harbors  swarms  of  bees,  on  honey-making  intent.  It 
calls  to  mind  the  passage  in  Ramona,  relating  to  the  jour- 
neving  of  good  Padre  Salviederra  through  forests  of  mus- 
tard: 

"He  struck  off  from  the  highway  into  a  path  overgrown 
with  wild  mustard.  Coming  up  so  slender  that  dozens  can 
find  starting-point  in  an  inch,  it  darts  up,  five,  ten,  twenty 
feet,  interlocking  wnth  all  the  other  hundreds  about  it,  till 
it  is  an  inextricable  network  like  lace.  Then  it  bursts  into 
yellow  bloom  still  finer,  more  feathery  and  lace-like.  The 
cloud  of  blossoms  seems  floating  in  the  air.  With  a  clear 
blue  sky  behind  it — it  looks  like  a  golden  snowstorm." 

A  growth  of  wild  mustard,  when  it  has  attained  its  full 
height,  is,  literally,  a  forest,  since  one  may  lose  their  way 
in  the  maze  of  blossoming  stalks  that  meet  overhead. 

Over  there  on  that  softly  rounded  hill  is  a  cross, — one  of 
the  few  remaining  of  the  crosses  which  Senora  Moreno 
caused  to  be  set  up  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  her 
vast  rancho,  that  all  who  passed  might  know  that  they  were 
on  the  land  of  a  good  Catholic. 

"Between  the  veranda  and  the  river  meadows  all  was 
garden,  orange  grove  and  almond  orchard  ;  the  orange  grove 
always  green,  never  without  snowy  blooms  or  golden  fruit; 


66 


and  the  almond  orchard  in  early  spring  a  fluttering  canopy 
of  pink  petals." 

Almost  is  one  persuaded  that  the  long-drawn  notes  of 
Alessandro's  violin  are  quivering  upon  the  soft  air;  almost 
would  one  believe  that  the  face — dreamy-eyed,  framed  in 
dark,  silky  hair — at  yonder  window  is  the  face  of  Ramona 
herself.  But,  alas,  it  is  said  that  the  Ramona  of  romance 
and  the  Ramona  of  reality  are  not  the  same ! 

One  would  rather  not  know  that  Ramona  was  lapsed  into 
semi-barbarism,  and  that  she  is  living  today  in  a  brush  hut. 
Also,  one  would  be  spared  the  knowledge  that  the  heroine 
of  that  marvelous  book  is  getting  on  in  years,  that  she  has 
three  chins,  and  that  she  waddles  when  she  walks. 

These  details  are  a  blot  upon  the  mental  picture  as  the  pil- 
grim turns,  with  a  last  look  at  the  white-walled  ranch-house, 
nestling  in  greenery,  and  plucks  a  flower  for  remembrance 
from  the  garden  of  Camulos. 


in  (§ili  B>mttx  larbani. 

She  leans  from  the  window  high — 
'Tis  dusk  in  the  quiet  sweet — 

And  softly,  softly  a  red  rose  flutters 
Down  at  my  feet. 

One  glance  from  the  witching  eyes 
Has  quickened  my  pulses'  beat; 

But  at  her  side  is  the  stern  duefia. 
Watchful,  discreet! 

A  blush,  a  sigh  and  a  smile, 
As  quick  from  the  dusty  street 

I  lift  the  rose  that  fell  from  her  fingers, 
Here  at  mv  feet. 


67 


HN'D  Alessandro  had  brought  her  beautiful  baskets, 
made  by  the  Indian  women  at  Pala,  and  one  which 
i:..  :  come  from  the  north,  from  the  Tulare  country.  It  had 
pav  feathers  woven  in  with  the  reeds, — red  and  yellow,  in 
alternate  rows,  round  and  round.  It  was  like  a  basket  made 
out  of  a  bright-colored  bird." 

For  what  uses  was  it  fashioned,  this  basket  so  like  a 
bright-colored  bird  ?  Whose  patient  hands  wove  the  fabric, 
strand  bv  strand?  Where  grew  the  grasses  that  were  gath- 
ered, dried  and  colored,  to  be  woven  with  infinite  care  into 
a  shape  so  perfect  that  we  wonder  at  the  beauty  of  it  ?  None 
but  the  old  basket  weavers  could  tell ;  and  so  few  are  left  in 
California  that  one  goes  far  to  find  them. 

Travelers  on  the  overland  route  become  familiar  with  the 
sight  of  Indian  basket  sellers,  who  flock  to  the  way-stations 
and  patiently  await  the  arrival  of  the  train.  Without  exactly 
knowing  how  it  came  about,  the  hapless  tourist  finds  himself 
the  possessor  of  vegetable  crates  and  "buck  plates,"  which 
articles  subsequently  do  duty  as  waste  baskets  or  card  bas- 
kets in  some  Eastern  home. 

But  the  connoisseur  whose  fad  is  the  collecting  of  baskets 
would  never  think  of  buying  these  coarse  specimens  of  weav- 
ing. His  are  the  baskets  handed  down  in  Indian  families 
from  generation  to  generation,  woven  at  a  period  when  the 
entire  furnishings  of  the  tepee  were  the  work  of  the  Indian 
woman's  hands.  Now  that  she  is  "civilized,"  the  squaw  no 
longer  brings  her  dowry  of  baskets  to  her  lord;  and  the 
art  of  weaving  as  weaving  was  done  in  those  days  will  soon 
be  a  lost  one. 

Everything,  from  the  pappoose's  cradle  to  the  pitched  jug 
in  which  water  was  carried,  was  woven  by  the  woman. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  grain  basket : 

"Here  and  there,  between  the  houses,  were  huge  baskets, 
larger  than  barrels,  woven  of  twigs  as  the  eagle  weaves  its 
nest,  only  tighter  and  thicker.  These  were  the  outdoor 
granaries ;  in  these  were  kept  acorns,  barley,  wheat  and  corn. 

68 


Ramona  thought  them,  as  well  she  might,  the  prettiest  things 
she  ever  saw." 

It  was  no  holiday  task  merely  to  collect  the  twigs  and 
root  fibers,  the  materials  from  which  the  baskets  were  made ; 
and  months  were  spent  in  the  construction  of  each  one  of 
them. 

It  is  further  related  that  the  strings  of  the  net  in  which 
Ramona  carried  her  belongings,  on  the  night  of  her  flight 
with  Alessandro,  cut  her  forehead  because  she  had  no 
"basket"  to  protect  the  head. 

"When  they  rode  down  into  the  valley,  the  whole  village 
was  astir.  The  vintage-time  had  nearly  passed ;  everywhere 
were  to  be  seen  large,  flat  baskets  of  grapes,  drying  in  the 
sun.  Old  women  and  children  were  turning  these,  or  pound- 
ing acorns  in  deep  stone  bowls ;  the  oldest  women  were  sit- 
ting on  the  ground,  weaving  baskets." 

The  embryo  collector,  with  the  confidence  bom  of  inex- 
perience, decides  that  he  will  "pick  up"  a  few  baskets  while 
in  California,  to  take  home  as  souvenirs.  He  is  directed  to 
the  shop  of  a  curio  dealer.  Oh,  yes,  the  dealer  has  Indian 
baskets  for  sale.  Straightway  he  produces  them  and  names 
the  price. 

There  are  deep,  bowl-shaped  baskets,  used — before  the 
days  of  tin  lard  buckets  and  the  useful  but  undecorative 
tomato-can — for  cooking  utensils.  These  baskets  held  water, 
which  was  brought  to  a  boiling  point  by  casting  in  stones 
heated  red-hot  in  the  embers.  Jugs  there  are,  of  various 
sizes,  shaped  like  the  Mexican  olla  and  coated  with  pitch  to 
render  them  water-tight.  A  hopper — which  is  a  bottomless 
basket,  made  to  fit  over  a  hollow  stone  on  which  corn  was 
ground — is  ornamented  with  beads,  inwoven  with  grasses 
dyed  black,  brown  and  red.  Shallow  baskets,  in  which  meal 
was  mixed ;  "carrying"  baskets — cone-shaped  and  provided 
with  a  strap  to  pass  around  the  forehead — which  were  borne 
on  the  back ;  prettily  woven  caps,  designed  to  protect  the 
head  from  the  chafing  of  the  strap ;  clothes-hampers  wherein 
the  dusky  dame's  scanty  wardrobe  was  kept, — these  and 
many  more  he  sees,  and  yearns  for  with  a  mighty  yearning. 

Having  duly  inspected  and  priced  the  larger  baskets,  he 
turns  his  attention  to  the  "trinket"  baskets.     Here,  he  ob- 

69 


serves,  are  pretty  trifles,  some  of  them  no  larger  than  the 
hand.  No  iloubt  tliev  can  be  had  for  a  song.  He  will  take 
a  dozen  of  them. 

"How  much?"  he  inquires,  holding  up  a  tiny  affair  orna- 
mented with  wampum  and  feathers  from  the  breast  of  the 
teal  duck. 

"Fifteen  dollars,"  says  the  curio  dealer,  with  a  nonchalant 
air. 

There  is  a  very  wonderful  basket,  a  "bottle-neck,"  that  is, 
a  basket  with  globular  body  and  narrow  neck,  and  one  of 
the  most  difficult  shapes  to  weave.  The  bottle-neck  haunts 
the  tourist.  Sleeping  and  waking  he  sees  its  graceful  shape, 
the  fineness  of  the  weaving,  the  beautiful  golden-brown  tint 
that  only  time  and  service  impart  to  specimens  of  the  textile 
art ;  and  waking  and  sleeping  he  sees  the  price — twenty-five 
dollars ! 


70 


®Ij0  ^rob^a  atth  (iiarl^^na  nf  iStfa0r0t&^. 


-rtCV 


nllE    fame    of    Riverside's    "Washington    Navels"    is 
abroad  in  the  land,  and  the  tourist  is  sure  to  make  a 
bee-line  for  an  orange  grove  within  twenty- four  hours  of 
-  his  arrival.    He  is  equally  sure  to  be  disappointed  with  his 
.  first  view  of  it.     Here  are  the  trees,  all  right  enough,  each 
loaded  with  its  three-fold  burden  of  fruit,  ripe  and  green, 
and  flowers,  harbingers  of  a  future  harvest.     How  sweet  is 
■  -  the  air  with  the  perfume  of  the  waxen  bloom ! 
^_      Down  at  the  end  of  that  green  aisle  a  mountain  wall  bars 
the  vision ;  and  standing  behind  one  of  the  trees,  the  tourist 
may  catch  a  glimpse,  through  the  greenery,  of  snow  on  more 
distant  heights.     It  is  all  very  beautiful,  of  course,  but — 
—  what  does  it  lack? 

The  scene  is  an  animated  one.  The  picking  season  has 
commenced,  and  the  grounds  are  astir  with  workers.  Scores 
of  men  are  despoiling  the  trees  of  the  ripened  fruit,  which 
is  carted  to  the  packing-house.  American  laborers  are  chiefly 
employed,  and  with  characteristic  energy  they  are  attending 
strictly  to  business — intent  only  upon  filling  as  many  boxes 
as  possible.  The  Chinese  workers  preserve  a  stolid  indiffer- 
ence to  all  but  the  task  before  them,  and  are  likewise  dili- 
gent. But  the  Mexican  finds  time  to  stop  and  eat  an  orange 
occasionally,  while  he  gossips  with  a  comrade;  and  so  long 
as  he  earns  enough  one  day  to  enable  him  to  be  idle  the 
next,  he  is  content. 

"They  must  have  photographed  this  very  scene  for  an 
illustration  in  'Picturesque  California,' "  says  the  tourist. 
"It  is  very  like,  but — " 

His  eye  brightens.    He  has  located  the  fly  in  the  ointment. 

"It's  this  loose  soil  lying  around  underfoot,"  he  announces. 
"Now,  if  your  orange  orchards  were  seeded  down,  like  the 
apple  orchards  back  East — " 

Some  irreverent  soul  has  suggested  that  the  Garden  of 
Eden  must  have  been  located  near  Riverside,  adding,  by  the 
way  of  a  "clincher" : 

"Where  else  do  flowers  and  fruits  attain  such  perfection?" 

72 


Where,  indeed !  Hundreds  of  plants  that  are  never  seen 
outside  a  greenhouse  on  the  other  side  of  the  Great  Divide 
flourish  hardily  in  the  open  air.  The  geranium,  a  favorite 
"pot  plant"  of  the  Eastern  flower  lover,  turns  loose  in  this 
genial  clime  and  clambers  to  the  top  of  a  tree,  or  anything 
else  that  is  v^^ithin  reach.  A  fuschia  twenty  feet  high  is 
no  novelty,  and  a  really  ambitious  heliotrope  never  stops 
short  of  a  second-story  window. 

The  waxen-cupped  magnolia  of  the  south,  the  pink-flow- 
ered oleander,  the  crape  myrtle,  the  bird-of-paradise,  laures- 
tinas,  callas,  in  clumps  and  hedgerows,  the  graceful  ceano- 
thus,  bamboo,  roses,  carnations,  fresias,  palms, — the  fan, 
sago  and  date, — the  pine,  the  eucalyptus,  which  is  of  Aus- 
tralian birth ;  the  camphor  tree,  of  Japanese  origin :  the 
Egyptian  fire  tree,  its  gem-like  blossoms  set  flat  on  leafless 
twigs ;  the  floriponda,  of  pungent  perfume ;  hardy  willows, 
poplars,  maples,  birches — all  these  and  many  more,  trees  and 
flowers  of  every  country  and  clime  have  a  place  in  the 
groves  and  gardens  of  Riverside. 


73 


?:iu-i  Aiinrlrs  (!IilQ  iDirrrlorij. 

nOS  AXGELES  is  nothing  if  not  cosmopolitan.  The 
tourist  brushes  garments,  in  passing  along  the  streets, 
with  representatives  from  every  state  in  the  Union,  and, 
it  may  be  said,  of  every  country  in  the  world.  At  one  time 
papers  in  German,  French,  Italian,  Chinese  and  Basque 
were  published  here. 

There  are  seven  public  parks  within  the  limits  of  the  city, 
affording  a  breathing-space  of  six  hundred  acres,  five-sixths 
of  which  is  included  in  Elysian  park,  a  tract  diversified  by 
hills  and  valleys,  and  traversed  from  end  to  end  by  a  boule- 
vard. In  addition  to  the  pleasure-grounds  within  the  city, 
an  unimproved  tract  of  3,000  acres  lies  just  outside  the 
limits,  following  the  trend  of  the  foothills. 

Los  Angeles  has  churches  of  every  denomination,  there 
being  over  one  hundred  in  the  city,  and  also  a  large  number 
of  religious,  charitable  and  benevolent  societies. 

The  educational  advantages  are  excellent,  the  city  boast- 
ing, aside  from  its  public  schools,  many  good  private  schools 
and  colleges. 

Three  theaters,  together  with  a  pavilion  and  various  halls, 
furnish  amusement  for  the  Angeleiio  and  the  stranger  within 
his  gates,  the  best  dramatic  talent  of  the  country  appearing 
here. 

PUBLIC  LIBRARY. 

The  library  is  quartered  on  the  third  floor  of  the  City 
Hall.  The  elevator  runs  from  8:50  a.  m.,  to  9:30  p.  m. 
The  reading  room,  open  every  day  in  the  year  (on  Sundays 
and  holidays,  from  i  to  9  p.  m.),  has  on  file  six  hundred 
newspapers  and  magazines.  Privileges  granted  to  all.  The 
library  contains  62,000  books.  A  well-equipped  reference 
room,  presided  over  by  courteous  attendants,  is  open  from 
9  a.  m.,  until  9:30  p.  m. 

POST  OFFICE. 

The  main  office  is  located  on  South  Spring  street,  corner 
of  Eighth. 

Office  hours — General  delivery  open  from  8  a.  m.,  to  8 
p.  m. ;  Sundays  from  9:45  a.  m.  to  11  a.  m.  only. 

Registry  office  open  from  9  a.  m.,  to  9  p.  m. 

74 


Stamp  window  open  from  8  a.  m.,  to  6  p.  m. 

Package  window  open  from  9  a.  m.,  to  6  p.  m. 

Money  order  window  open  from  9  a.  m.,  to  5  p.  m. 

Eleven  branch  offices  have  been  established  where  letters 
and  packages  are  mailed,  money  orders  issued  and  paid, 
stamps  purchased  and  letters  registered.  They  are  located 
as  follows : 

Station  A,  112  South  Daly  street. 

Station  B,  2131  East  ist  street. 

Station  C,  363  North  Main  street. 

Station  D,  1200  West  Washington  street. 

Station  E,  1656  Temple  street. 

Station  F,  1910  South  Main  street. 

Station  G,  2603  Central  avenue. 

Station  H,  2306  Union  avenue. 

Station  K,  Central  avenue,  corner  of  Vermont  avenue. 

Sub  Station  No.  i,  1452  San  Fernando  street. 

Sub  Station  No.  2,  403  South  Broadway. 

Pico  Heights  Station,  2657  West  Pico  street. 

University  Station,  37th  street,  corner  of  Wesley  avenue. 

CHURCHES. 

First  Baptist  Church,  725  South  Flower  street. 

Catholic  (Roman),  Cathedral  of  St.  Vibiana,  Main,  be- 
tween East  2nd  and  East  3rd  streets,  and  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Angels  (Plaza),  525  North  Main  street. 

First  Congregational  Church,  corner  of  South  Hill  and 
West  6th  streets. 

Episcopal,  St.  Paul's  Pro-Cathedral,  535  South  Olive 
street. 

Jewish,  Congregation  B'nai  B'rith,  worships  in  Syna- 
gogue, corner  West  9th  and  South  Hope  streets. 

First  English  Lutheran  Church,  800  South  Flower  street. 

First  German  Evangelical  Lutheran  Trinity  Church,  755 
South  Flower  street. 

First  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  corner  of  South  Hill 
and  West  6th  streets. 

First  Presbyterian  Church,  corner  of  West  20th  and  South 
Figueroa  streets. 

Immanuel  Presbyterian  Church,  corner  of  South  Figue- 
roa and  West  loth  streets. 


75 


Clniroli  of  the  Unity,  927  South  Flower  street. 

Y.   M.   C.  A. 

The  V.  M.  C.  A.  Building  is  located  on  Broadway,  near 
Second  street.  Rooms  open  to  visitors  from  8:30  a.  m.,  to 
10  p.  in.    Reading;  room  open  to  visitors  as  well  as  members. 

Y.   W.   C.   A. 

Tiio  ^'.  W.  C.  A.  has  quarters  on  the  second  floor,  at  211 
West  Second  street.  The  object  of  this  association  is  the 
spiritual,  intellectual  and  social  advancement  of  young 
women. 

Rooms  open  from  9  a.  m.,  to  9  p.  m.     Reading  room  sup- 
plied with  daily  papers  and  current  periodicals, 
w.  c.  T.  u. 

Heatlquarters  at  Temperance  Temple,  corner  of  Broad- 
way and  Temple  street. 

SALVATION   ARMY. 

Headquarters  at  3275^  South  Spring  street. 

HOTELS. 

Van  Nuys,  corner  of  Main  and  Fourth  streets. 

Westminster,  corner  of  Main  and  Fourth  streets. 

Van  Nuys  Broadway,  Broadway,  near  Fourth  street. 

Angelus,  corner  of  Spring  and  Fourth  streets. 

Hollenbeck,  corner  of  Spring  and  Second  streets. 

Nadeau,  corner  of  Spring  and  First  streets. 

Palms,  Broadway,  between  Sixth  and  Seventh  streets. 

Broadway  Hotel,  Broadway,  between  Fourth  and  Fifth 
streets. 

Ramona,  Spring  street,  near  Third. 

Bellevue  Terrace,  corner  of  Sixth  and  Figueroa  streets. 

Melrose,  Grand  avenue,  between  First  and  Second 
streets. 

Abbotsford  Inn,  801  South  Hope  street. 

Westlake  Hotel,  720  Westlake  avenue. 


D 


WOMEN'S  CLUBS. 
HE  camaraderie  among  Los  Angeles  women  is  pro- 
verbial, and  not  only  are  there  clubs  that  advance  edu- 
cation, taking  up  the  study  of  art,  literature  or  music  along 
well-defined  lines,  but  clubs  that  have  no  other  object  than 
the  promotion  of  social  intercourse. 

76 


Of  the  latter  class,  the  Friday  Morning  Club,  with  a  mem- 
bership of  four  hundred  and  fifty  women,  stands  first.  This 
club  owns  the  elegant  building  on  Figueroa  street,  the  Wom- 
an's Club  House;  and  in  the  spacious,  well-arranged,  artist- 
ically furnished  rooms  weekly  meetings  are  held,  at  which 
subjects  of  interest  to  women  are  discussed. 

Now  and  then  there  is  a  musical  morning,  or  a  Round 
Table  is  held,  at  which  the  latest  books  are  reviewed;  and 
once  a  month  a  luncheon  is  given  in  the  well-appointed 
dining-rooms  on  the  second  floor. 

A  gentleman  from  abroad,  who  was  being  shown  about, 
exclaimed:  "Why,  this  is  more  Hke  a  man's  club-house 
than  a  house  of  women's  planning."  And  so  it  is.  There  are 
no  "fripperies"  anywhere.  The  Woman's  Club  House  of 
Los  Angeles  is  without  peer  in  point  of  elegance,  conveni- 
ence and  good  taste. 

The  Ruskin  Art  Club,  the  oldest  in  the  city,  with  a  mem- 
bership of  one  hundred  women,  has  quarters  in  the  Blanch- 
ard  building,  on  Broadway. 

This  club  excels  in  serious  and  conscientious  work. 
Among  the  subjects  taken  up  have  been  the  Art  of  the 
Renaissance,  to  which  years  of  study  were  devoted,  and 
Modern  Art,  to  which  two  years  of  study  were  given. 
Women  who  have  a  tour  of  Europe  in  view  would  do  well 
to  join  this  club. 

The  Wednesday  Morning  Club  of  East  Los  Angeles  is  the 
"baby"  among  clubs,  having  been  formed  in  1898.  The 
work  is  done  in  sections — literature,  music  and  current 
events — under  able  leaders. 

Young  as  it  is,  this  club  has  gained  great  prestige  in  Los 
Angeles. 

Of  the  musical  clubs  of  Los  Angeles,  The  Treble  Clef 
Club  is  the  oldest.  This  club  registers  one  hundred  names, 
and  has  in  Madame  Isadore  Martinez,  an  efficient  leader. 

The  Monday  Musical  Club  admits  both  pianists  and 
singers,  and  a  high  grade  of  excellence  has  been  attained 
by  many  of  its  members. 

The  Woman's  Orchestra,  organized  by  the  eminent  musi- 
cian Mr.  Harley  Hamilton,  has  been  in  existence  for  several 


77 


years,  the  inomhers,  twenty-five  in  number  ,meeting  for  prac- 
tice every  week. 

Club  life,  however,  seems  to  center  at  the  Shakespeare 
House,  on  Fifteenth  and  Figueroa  streets. 

This  is  the  home  of  the  Galpin  Shakespeare  Club,  and  the 
Kboll  Club  and  j\Irs.  Addie  Murphy  Grigg's  School  of  Ex- 
pression are  also  quartered  here. 

The  Ebell  Club  is  a  study  club,  with  a  large  and  en- 
thusiastic membership. 

The  work  of  the  Ebell  is  carried  on  in  sections — literature, 
music,  tourist,  history,  and  the  conversation,  or  story  teller's 
section — under  able  leadership. 

A  brief  description  of  the  Shakespeare  House  will  be  of 
interest,  not  only  to  students  of  the  immortal  bard,  but  to  the 
public  at  large.  The  idea  of  erecting  a  monument  to 
Shakespeare  was  first  conceived  in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Kate 
Tupper  Galpin,  under  whose  leadership  the  Shakespeare 
clubs  of  Los  Angeles  and  adjacent  cities  have  done  note- 
worthy work,  and  was  carried  out  by  Mrs.  Addie  Murphy 
Grigg. 

The  front  elevation  is  a  facsimile  of  Shakespeare's  house 
at  Stratford-on-Avon.  The  birth  room  is  an  exact  repro- 
duction of  the  one  in  Shakespeare's  home.  Here  are  the 
heavy  beams,  the  old  oak  wainscotting,  the  quaint  fireplace, 
the  rough  plastering,  the  color  of  a  dead  leaf.  In  this  room 
will  be  gathered  Shakespeareana  in  the  shape  of  books  and 
pictures,  together  with  busts  of  Shakespeare,  of  Julius 
C?esar,  Cleopatra,  and  other  characters  of  Shakespeare's 
creating. 

A  large  reception  hall,  shaped  like  the  letter  T,  and  hand- 
somely furnished;  an  audience  room  with  perfectly  appointed 
stage  for  dramatic  work,  a  gymnasium,  banquet  room, 
studios,  and  four  club  rooms  for  the  use  of  the  Ebell  Club 
are  also  included  in  the  make-up  of  the  Shakespeare  House 
— the  greatest  monument  to  Shakespeare  in  the  United 
States. 

The  crowning  feature  of  this  wonderfully  planned  and 
artistic  home  of  the  Shakespeare  Club  will  be  the  old  Eng- 
lish garden  at  the  south  of  the  building,  wherein  will  be 
planted  the  flowers  immortalized  by  Shakespeare. 

78 


dljambpr  of  (Eonmtra, 


BN  a  rainy  day — we  have  'em  occasionally,  just  to  bring 
out  the  flowers — the  most  interesting  place  in  the  city 

in  which  to  spend  the  morning  is  the  Chamber  of  Commerce, 
on  the  second  floor  of  the  building  at  the  corner  of  Broadway 
and  Fourth  street. 

The  rooms  are  open  from  9  a.  m.,  to  5  p.  m.,  and  the  ex- 
hibits of  California  products — fruits,  wines,  woods,  flowers, 
etc., — on  the  first  floor  is  alone  worth  hours  of  study. 

In  the  gallery  above  may  be  seen  Dr.  Palmer's  wonder- 
ful collection  of  stone  implements  and  other  Indian  relics, 
found  in  California  and  adjacent  islands;  the  quaint, 
wooden  carreta,  or  Indian  cart,  two  hundred  years  old, 
brought  from  New  Mexico ;  cases  of  fine  photographs  illus- 
trating picturesque  California,  and  other  things  of  interest. 

The  Coronel  collection,  room  11,  second  floor  (open  Wed- 
nesdays and  Saturdays),  is  a  museum  in  itself. 

Illustrative  of  life  in  California  under  the  mission  regime 
are  the  wine  press,  of  the  San  Gabriel  mission,  the  historic 
copper,  or  still,  used  in  making  brandy,  once  the  property  of 
the  same  mission,  branding  irons,  used  to  mark  the  mis- 
sion herds  that  they  might  be  distinguished  from  the  herds 
of  adjacent  ranches,  curiously  decorated  clubs  and  sticks 
employed  by  the  Indians  in  playing  games,  hand-wrought 
spurs,  chains,  locks,  keys,  plow-points,  reaping-hooks,  etc. 
Here,  too,  is  the  first  cannon  brought  into  California.  It  was 
made  in  171 7.  Father  Junipero  Serra,  so  it  is  said,  brought 
the  cannon  to  San  Diego  in  1769.  It  made  its  long  journey 
overland  on  the  back  of  a  mule,  and  was  afterward  used  for 
the  firing  of  salutes  at  festivals  and  feasts. 

Most  important  in  the  Coronel  collection  are  the  two  cases 
filled  with  pottery,  excavated  from  the  Pyramid  of  the  Sun, 
San  Juan  Teotihuacan,  Mexico. 

This  pottery  is,  presumably,  Toltec,  and  comprises  vases, 
cinerary  urns,  jars,  idols,  musical  instruments,  censers, 
cups,  whistles,  masks  and  pipes.  Students  of  archaeology 
will  find  much  to  interest  them  in  this  exhibit. 

A  set  of  six  paintings,  portraying  the  downfall  of  the 

79 


Aztecs  at  tlie  hands  of  Cortez,  brought  from  Old  Mexico, 
are  vastly  interesting.  They  were  in  the  Coronel  family 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  are  said  to  be  three  hundred 
years  old.  A  collection  of  modern  paintings  (including 
Coronel's  portrait),  illustrates  early  life  in  the  Pueblo  de 
Los  Angeles. 

A  case  of  Mexican  ware  (modem)  containing  beautiful 
specimens  of  the  Guadalajara  and  Guadalupe  (holy)  ware, 
attracts  much  attention,  as  does  the  case  of  Mexican  feather- 
work,  showing  the  Mexican's  ingenuity  in  this  line. 

A  case  of  Mexican  figures  in  wax,  no  figure  more  than  an 
inch  high  and  perfect  in  every  detail,  tells  the  story  of  Mexi- 
can life,  high  and  low.  Here,  too,  is  a  case  of  drawn-work 
with  printed  explanations  of  the  significance  of  each  pattern. 

Cases  of  costumes  (Mexican)  embrace  everything  char- 
actistic  of  Mexican  dress,  from  the  silver-trimmed  sombrero 
to  the  spurs  of  el  senor ;  and  from  the  high  comb  of  peculiar 
design,  evidently  the  one-time  possession  of  a  member  of  the 
Spanish  nobility,  to  the  rebozo  of  a  woman  of  the  lower 
class. 

Don  Antonio  Coronel,  to  whom  Los  Angeles  is  indebted 
for  this  priceless  collection,  came  to  Los  Angeles  in  1836, 
when  there  were  less  than  a  thousand  people  in  the  pueblo, 
and  remained  here  until  the  time  of  his  death. 

SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA  HOTELS. 
Avalon,  Santa  Catalina — Hotel  Metropole. 
Coronado — Hotel  del  Coronado. 
Echo  Mountain — Alpine  Tavern. 
Long  Beach — Seaside  Inn. 
Pasadena — Hotel  Green,  La  Pintoresca. 
Redlands — Hotel  Windsor,  Casa  Loma. 
Redondo — Hotel  Redondo. 
Riverside — Casa  Palma. 

San  Diego — Hotel  Brewster,  Hotel  Florence. 
Santa  Barbara — Hotel  Arlington,  Hotel  Potter. 
Santa  Monica — Hotel  Arcadia. 
Terminal  Island — Terminal  Tavern. 


80 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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